•mffi 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


JESS 


BY 

H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 

AUTHOR  OP 

"KING  SOLOMON'S  MINES"  "SHE"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE 
1  887 


College 
Library 


CONTENTS. 


I.  JOHN  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE 1 

IT.  How  THE  SISTERS  CAME  TO  MOOIFONTEIN.    ...  8 

III.  MR.  FRANK  MULLER 20 

IV.  BESSIE  is  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE 29 

V.  DREAMS  ARE  FOOLISHNESS 39 

VI.  THE  STORM  BREAKS 47 

VII.  LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM 57 

VIII.  JESS  GOES  TO  PRETORIA 66 

IX.  JANTJE'S  STORY 75 

X.  JOHN  HAS  AN  ESCAPE 83 

XI.  ON  THE  BRINK 96 

XII.  OVER  IT 105 

XIII.  FRANK  MULLER  SHOWS  HIS  HAND 117 

XIV.  JOHN  TO  THE  RESCUE 127 

XV.  A  ROUGH  JOURNEY 137 

XVI.  PRETORIA 147 

XVII.  THE  TWELFTH  OF  FEBRUARY 156 

XVIII.  AND  AFTER 1C7 

XIX.  HANS  COETZEE  COMES  TO  PRETORIA 1 70 

XX.  THE  GREAT  MAN ISO 

XXI-  JESS  GETS  A  PASS 195 

XXII.  ON  THE  ROAD  . 204 

XXIII.  IN  THE  DRIFT  OF  THE  VAAL 213 

XXIV.  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 226 

XXV.  MEANWHILE.  236 

1C 42339 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.  FRANK  MULLER'S  FAMILIAR 247 

XXVII.  SILAS  is  CONVINCED 256 

XXVIII.  BESSIE  is  PUT  TO  THE  QUESTION 268 

XXIX.  CONDEMNED  TO  DEATH 279 

XXX.  "  WE  MUST  PART,  JOHN  " 288 

XXXI.  JESS  FINDS  A  FRIEND 297 

XXXII.  HE  SHALL  DDE 306 

XXXIII.  VENGEANCE -. 317 

XXXIV.  TANTA  COETZEE  TO  THE  RESCUE 327 

XXXV.  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  THE  MATTER  .  335 


JESS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

JOHN    HAS   AN    ADVENTUBE. 

THE  day  had  been  very  hot  even  for  the  Transvaal, 
where,  even  in  the  autumn,  the  days  still  know  how  to  be 
hot,  although  the  neck  of  the  summer  is  broken,  that  is, 
when  the  thunder-storms  hold  off  for  a  week  or  two,  as 
they  occasionally  will.  Even  the  succulent  blue  lilies — a 
variety  of  the  agapanthus  which  is  so  familiar  to  us  in  Eng- 
lish greenhouses — hung  their  long  trumpet-shaped  flowers 
and  looked  oppressed  and  miserable,  beneath  the  burning 
breath  of  the  hot  wind  which  had  been  blowing  for  hours 
like  the  draught  of  a  volcano.  The  grass,  too,  near  the 
wide  roadway,  that  stretched  in  a  feeble  and  indetermi- 
nate sort  of  fashion  across  the  veldt,  forking,  branching, 
and  reuniting  like  the  veins  on  a  lady's  arm,  was  com- 
pletely coated  over  with  a  thick  layer  of  red  dust.  But 
the  hot  wind  was  going  down  now,  as  it  always  does  tow- 
ards sunset.  Indeed,  all  that  remained  of  it  were  a  few 
strictly  local  and  miniature  whirlwinds,  which  would  sud- 
denly spring  up  on  the  road  itself,  and  twist  and  twirl 
fiercely  round,  raising  a  mighty  column  of  dust  fifty  feet 
or  more  into  the  air,  where  it  hung  long  after  the  cause 
of  it  had  passed,  and  then  slowly  dissolved  as  its  partic-U-s 
floated  to  the  earth. 

Coming  along  the  road,  in  the  immediate  track  of  one 
of  these  desultory  and  inexplicable  whirlwinds,  was  a  man 
1 


2  JESS. 

on  horseback.  The  man  looked  limp  and  dirty,  and  the 
horse  limper  and  dirtier.  The  hot  wind  had  taken  all  the 
bones  out  of  them,  as  the  Kaffirs  say,  which  was  not  very 
much  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  they  had  been  jour- 
neying through  it  for  the  last  four  hours,  without  off-sad- 
dling. Suddenly  the  whirlwind,  which  had  been  travel- 
ling along  pretty  smartly,  halted,  and  the  dust,  after 
turning  round  a  few  times  in  the  air  like  a  dying  top, 
slowly  began  to  dissolve  in  the  accustomed  fashion.  The 
man  on  the  horse  halted  too,  and  contemplated  it  in  an 
absent  kind  of  way. 

"  It's  just  like  a  man's  life,"  he  said  aloud  to  his  horse, 
"coming  from  nobody  knows  where,  nobody  knows  why, 
and  making  a  little  column  of  dust  on  the  world's  high- 
way, and  then  passing  away  and  leaving  the  dust  to  fall 
to  the  ground  again,  and  be  trodden  under-foot  and  for- 
gotten." 

The  speaker,  a  stout,  well  set-up,  rather  ugly  man,  ap- 
parently on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty,  with  pleasant  blue 
eyes  and  a  reddish' -peaked  beard,  laughed  a  little  at  his 
own  sententious  reflection,  and  then  gave  his  jaded  horse 
a  tap  writh  the  sjambock  in  his  hand. 

"  Come  on,  Blesbok,"  he  said,  "  or  we  shall  never  get 
to  old  Croft's  place  to-night.  By  Jove!  I  believe  that 
must  be  the  turn,"  and  he  pointed  with  his  whip  to  a  lit- 
tle rutty  track  that  turned  from  the  Wakkerstroom  main 
road  and  stretched  away  towards  a  curious  isolated  hill 
with  a  large  flat  top,  that  rose  out  of  the  rolling  plain 
some  four  miles  to  the  right.  "The  old  Boer  said  the 
second  turn,"  he  went  on,  still  talking  to  himself,  "  but 
perhaps  he  lied.  I  am  told  that  some  of  them  think  it  a 
good  joke  to  send  an  Englishman  a  few  miles  wrong. 
Let's  see,  they  said  the  place  was  under  the  lee  of  a  table- 
topped  hill,  about  half  an  hour's  ride  from  the  main  road, 
and  that  is  a  table-topped  hill,  so  I  think  I  will  try  it. 
Come  on,  Blesbok,"  and  he  put  the  tired  nag  into  a  sort 


JESS.  3 

of  "tripple,"  or  ambling  canter  much  affected  by  South 
African  horses. 

"  Life  is  a  queer  thing,"  reflected  Captain  John  Niel 
to  himself  as  he  slowly  cantered  along.  "  Now  here  am 
I,  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  about  to  begin  the  world  again 
as  assistant  to  an  old  Transvaal  farmer.  ^  It  is  a  pretty 
end  to  all  one's  ambitions,  and  to  fourteen  years'  work 
in  the  army;  but  it  is  what  it  has  to  come  to,  my  boy,  so 
you  had  better  make  the  best  of  it." 

Just  then  his  cogitations  were  interrupted,  for  on  the 
farther  side  of  a  gentle  slope  there  suddenly  appeared  an 
extraordinary  sight.  Over  the  crest  of  the  rise  of  land, 
now  some  four  or  five  hundred  yards  away,  a  pony  with 
a  lady  on  its  back  came  wildly  galloping,  and  after  it, 
with  wings  spread  and  outstretched  neck,  a  huge  cock 
ostrich  was  speeding  along,  covering  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 
at  every  stride  of  its  long  legs.  The  pony  was  still  twen- 
ty yards  ahead  of  the  bird,  and  coming  towards  John 
rapidly,  but  strive  as  it  would  it  could  not  distance  the 
swiftest  thing  on  all  the  earth.  Five  seconds  passed — the 
great  bird  was  close  alongside  now —  Ah!  and  John  Kiel 
turned  sick  and  shut  his  eyes  as  he  rode,  for  he  saw  the 
ostrich's  thick  leg  fly  high  into  the  air  and  then  sweep 
down  like  a  leaded  bludgeon. 

Thud!  It  had  missed  the  lady  and  struck  her  horse 
upon  the  spine,  behind  the  saddle,  for  the  moment  com- 
pletely paralyzing  it,  so  that  it  fell  all  of  a  heap  on  to  the 
veldt.  In  a  moment  the  girl  on  its  back  was  up  and  off 
towards  him,  and  after  her  came  the  ostrich.  Up  went  the 
great  leg  again,  but  before  it  came  crashing  on  to  her 
shoulders  she  had  flung  herself  face  downwards  on  the 
grass.  In  an  instant  the  huge  bird  was  on  top  of  her, 
kicking  at  her,  rolling  over  her,  and  crushing  the  very  life 
out  of  her.  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  John  Niel  arrived 
upon  the  scene.  The  moment  the  ostrich  saw  him  he  gave 
up  his  attacks  upon  the  lady  on  the  ground  and  began  to 


4  JESS. 

waltz  towards  him  with  a  pompous  sort  of  step  that  these 
birds  sometimes  assume  before  they  give  battle.  Now, 
Captain  Niel  was  unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  ostriches, 
and  so  was  his  horse,  which  showed  a  strong  inclination  to 
bolt ;  as,  indeed,  under  other  circumstances,  his  rider  would 
have  been  glad  to  do  himself.  But  he  could  not  abandon 
beauty  in  distress,  so,  finding  it  impossible  to  control  his 
horse,  he  slipped  off  it,  and  with  his  sjambock,  or  hide-whip, 
in  his  hand,  valiantly  faced  the  enemy.  For  a  moment  or 
two  the  great  bird  stood  still,  blinking  its  lustrous  eyes  at 
him  and  gently  swaying  its  graceful  neck  to  and  fro.  Then 
all  of  a  sudden  it  spread  out  its  wings  and  came  for  him  like 
a  thunderbolt.  He  sprang  to  one  side,  and  was  aware  of  a 
rustle  of  rustling  feathers,  and  of  a  vision  of  a  thick  leg 
striking  downwards  past  his  head.  Fortunately  it  missed 
him,  and  the  ostrich  sped  past  like  a  flash.  Before  he  could 
turn,  however,  it  was  back  and  had  landed  the  full  weight 
of  one  of  its  awful  forward  kicks  in  the  broad  of  his  back, 
and  away  he  went  head-over-heels  like  a  shot  rabbit.  In 
a  second  he  was  on  his  legs  again,  shaken,  indeed,  but  not 
much  the  worse,  and  perfectly  mad  with  fury  and  pain. 
At  him  came  the  ostrich,  and  at  the  ostrich  went  he,  catch- 
ing it  a  blow  across  the  slim  neck  with  his  sjambock,  that 
staggered  it  for  a  moment.  Profiting  by  the  check,  he 
seized  the  bird  by  the  wing  and  held  on  like  grim  death 
with  both  hands.  Then  they  began  to  gyrate,  slowly  at 
first,  then  quicker,  and  yet  more  quick,  till  at  last  it  seemed 
to  Captain  John  Kiel  that  time  and  space  and  the  solid 
earth  were  nothing  but  a  revolving  vision  fixed  somewhere 
in  the  watches  of  the  night.  Above  him,  like  a  stationary 
pivot,  towered  the  tall,  graceful  neck,  beneath  him  spun 
the  top-like  legs,  and  in  front  of  him  was  a  soft  black  and 
white  mass  of  feathers. 

Thud,  and  a  cloud  of  stars  !  He  was  on  his  back,  and 
the  ostrich,  who  did  not  seem  to  be  affected  by  giddiness, 
was  on  him,  punishing  him  dreadfully.  Luckily  an  ostrich 


JESS.  5 

cannot  kick  a  man  very  hard  when  he  is  flat  on  the  ground. 
If  lie  could,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  John  Niel, 
and  this  story  need  never  have  been  written. 

Half  a  minute  or  so  passed,  during  which  the  bird  worked 
his  sweet  will  upon  his  prostrate  enemy,  and  at  the  end  of 
it  the  man  began  to  feel  very  much  as  though  his  earthly 
career  was  closed.  Just  as  things  were  growing  faint  and 
dim  to  him,  however,  he  suddenly  saw  a  pair  of  white  arms 
clasp  themselves  round  the  ostrich's  legs  from  behind,  and 
heard  a  voice  cry: 

"  Break  his  neck  while  I  hold  his  legs,  or  he  will  kill 
you." 

This  roused  him  from  his  torpor,  and  he  staggered  to 
his  feet.  Meanwhile  the  ostrich  and  the  young  lady  had 
come  to  the  ground,  and  were  rolling  about  together  in  a 
confused  heap,  over  which  the  elegant  neck  and  open  hiss- 
ing mouth  wavered  to  and  fro  like  a  cobra  about  to  strike. 
With  a  rush  he  seized  the  neck  in  both  his  hands,  and,  put- 
ting out  all  his  strength  (for  he  was  a  strong  man),  he 
twisted  it  till  it  broke  with  a  snap,  and  after  a  few  wild 
and  convulsive  bounds  and  struggles  the  great  bird  lay 
dead. 

Then  he  sank  down  dazed  and  exhausted,  and  surveyed 
the  scene.  The  ostrich  was  perfectly  quiet,  and  would 
never  kick  again,  and  the  lady  too  was  quiet.  He  won- 
dered vaguely  if  the  brute  had  killed  her  —  he  was  as  yet 
too  weak  to  go  and  see — and  then  fell  to  gazing  at  her 
face.  Her  head  was  pillowed  on  the  body'  of  the  dead 
bird,  and  its  feathery  plumes  made  it  a -fitting  resting- 
place.  Slowly  it  dawned  on  him  that  the  face  was  very 
beautiful,  although  it  looked  so  pale  just  now.  Low, 
broad  brow:,  crowned  with' soft,  yellow'. hair,  the  chin  very 
round  and  white,  the-  mouth  sweef  though  rather  large. 
The  eyes  he  could  not  see,  because  they  were  closed,  for 
the  lady  had  fainted.  For  the  rest,  she  was  quite  young 
— about  twenty,  tall,  and  finely  formed.  Presently  he  got 


6  JESS. 

a  little  better,  and,  creeping  towards  her  (for  he  was  sadly 
knocked  about),  took  her  hand  and  began  to  chafe  it  be- 
tween his  own.  It  was  a  well-formed  hand,  but  brown, 
and  showed  signs  of  doing  plenty  of  hard  work.  Soon  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  he  noted  with  satisfaction  that  they 
were  very  good  eyes,  blue  in  color.  Then  she  sat  up  and 
laughed  a  little. 

"Well,  I  am  silly,"  she  said  ;  "I  believe  I  fainted." 

"  It  is  not  much  to  be  wondered  at,"  said  John  Niel,  po- 
litely, and  lifting  his  hand  to  take  off  his  hat,  only  to  find 
that  it  had  gone  in  the  fray.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  very 
much  hurt  by  the  bird." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  doubtfully.  "  But  I  am  glad 
that  you  killed  the  skellum  (vicious  beast).  He  got  out  of 
the  ostrich  camp  three  days  ago,  and  has  been  lost  ever 
since.  He  killed  a  boy  last  year,  and  I  told  uncle  he  ought 
to  shoot  him  then,  but  he  would  not,  because  he  was  such 
a  beauty." 

"Might  I  ask,"  said  John  Niel,  "are  you  Miss  Croft?" 

"  Yes,  I  am — one  of  them.  There  are  two  of  us,  you 
know  ;  and  I  can  guess  who  you  are — you  are  Captain 
Niel,  whom  uncle  is  expecting  to  help  him  with  the  farm 
and  the  ostriches." 

"  If  all  of  them  are  like  that,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
dead  bird,  "  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  take  kindly  to  ostrich 
farming." 

She  laughed,  showing  a  charming  line  of  teeth.  "  Oh, 
no,"  she  said,  "  he  was  the  only  bad  one — but,  Captain  Niel, 
I  think  you  will  find  it  fearfully  dull.  There  are  nothing 
but  Boers  about  here,  you  know.  There  are  no  English 
people  nearer  than  Wakkerstroom." 

"  You  overlook  yourself,"  he  said,  politely  ;  for  really 
this  daughter  of  the  wilderness  had  a  very  charming  air 
about  her. 

"Oh,"  she  answered,  "I  am  only  a  girl,  you  know,  and 
besides,  I  am  not  clever.  Jess,  now — that's  my  sister — Jess 


JESS.  7 

has  been  at  school  at  Cape  Town,  and  she  is  clever.  I  was 
at  Cape  Town,  too,  but  I  didn't  learn  much  there.  But, 
Captain  Niel,  both  the  horses  have  bolted  ;  mine  has  gone 
home,  and  I  expect  yours  has  followed,  and  I  should  like 
to  know  how  we  are  going  to  get  up  to  Mooifontein  (beau- 
tiful fountain,  that's  what  we  call  our  place,  you  know). 
Can  you  walk  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  doubtfully  ;  "  I'll  try. 
That  bird  has  knocked  me  about  a  good  deal,"  and  accord- 
ingly he  staggered  on  to  his  legs,  only  to  collapse  with  an 
exclamation  of  pain.  His  ankle  was  sprained,  and  he  was 
so  stiff  and  bruised  that  he  could  hardly  stir.  "  How  far 
is  the  house  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  about  a  mile — just  there  ;  we  shall  see  it  from 
the  crest  of  the  rise.  Look,  I'm  all  right.  It  was  silly  to 
faint,  but  he  kicked  all  the  breath  out  of  me,"  and  she  got 
up  and  danced  a  little  on  the  grass  to  show  him.  "  My 
word,  though,  I  am  sore  !  You  must  take  my  arm,  that's 
all  ;  that  is,  if  you  don't  mind  ?" 

u  Oh  dear,  no,  indeed,  I  don't  mind,"  he  said,  laughing  ; 
and  so  they  started,  arm  affectionately  linked  in  arm. 


CHAPTER  IL 

HOW   THE   SISTERS    CAME    TO    MOOIFOXTEIN. 

"  CAPTAIN  NIEL,"  said  Bessie  Croft  (for  that  was  her 
name)  when  they  had  painfully  limped  one  hundred 
yards  or  so,  "  will  you  think  me  rude  if  I  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion ?" 

"Not  at  all." . 

"  What  has  induced  you  to  come  and  bury  yourself  in 
this  place  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"Because  I  don't  think  that  you  will  "like  it.  I  don't 
think,"  she  added,  slowly,  "that  it  is  a  fit  place  for  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  and"  an  army  officer  like  you.  You  will 
find  the  Boer  ways  horrid,  and  then  there  will  only  be  my 
old  uncle  and  us  two  for  you  to  associate  with." 

John  Niel  laughed.  "English  gentlemen  ain't  so  par- 
ticular nowadays,  I  can  tell  you,  Miss  Croft,  especially 
when  they  have  to  earn  a  living.  Take  my  case,  for  in- 
stance, for  I  may  as  well  tell  you  exactly  how  I  stand.  I 
have  been  in  the  army  fourteen  years,  and  am  now  thirty- 
four.  Well,  I  have  been  able  to  live  there  because  I  had 
an  old  aunt  who  allowed  me  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
a  year.  Six  months  ago  she  died,  leaving  me  the  little 
property  she  possessed,  for  most  of  her  income  came  from 
an  annuity.  After  paying  expenses,  duty,  etc.,  it  amounts 
to  eleven  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds.  Now,  the  interest 
on  that  is  about  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  I  can't  live  in  the 
army  on  that.  Just  after  my  aunt's  death  I  came  to  Dur- 
ban with  my  regiment  from  Mauritius,  and  now  they  are 


JESS.'  0 

ordered  home.  Well,  I  liked  the  country,  and  I  knew  that 
I  could  not  afford  to  live  at  home,  so  I  got  a  year's  leave  of 
absence,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  have  a  look  round  to 
see  if  I  could  not  take  to  farming.  Then  a  gentleman  in 
Durban  told  me  of  your  uncle,  and  said  that  he  wanted  to 
dispose  of  a  third  interest  in  his  place  for  a  thousand 
pounds,  as  he  was  getting  too  old  to  manage  it  himself ; 
and  so  I  entered  into  correspondence  with  him,  and  agreed 
to  come  up  for  a  few  months  to  see  how  I  liked  it ;  and 
accordingly  here  I  am,  just  in  time  to  save  you  from  being 
knocked  to  bits  by  an  ostrich." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  answered,  laughingly  ;  "  you've  had 
a  warm  welcome  at  any  rate.  Well,  I  hope  you  will 
like  it." 

Just  as  he  finished  his  story  they  got  to  the  top  of  the 
rise  over  which  the  ostrich  had  pursued  Bessie  Croft,  and 
saw  a  Kaffir  coming  towards  them,  leading  the  pony  in 
one  hand  and  Captain  Niel's  horse  in  the  other.  About  a 
hundred  yards  behind  the  horses  a  lady  was  walking. 

"  Ah,"  said  Bessie,  "  they've  caught  the  horses,  and  here 
is  Jess  come  to  see  what  is  the  matter." 

By  this  time  the  lady  in  question  was  quite  close,  so  that 
John  was  able  to  get  a  first  impression  of  her.  She  was 
small  and  rather  thin,  with  quantities  of  ;curling  brown 
hair ;  not  by  any  means  a  lovely  woman,  as  her  sister  un- 
doubtedly was,  but  possessing  two  very  remarkable  char- 
acteristics-—  a  complexion  of  extraordinary  and  uniform 
pallor,  and  a  pair  of  the  most  beautiful  dark  eyes  he 
had  ever  looked  on.  Altogether,  though  her  size  was  al- 
most insignificant,  she  was  a  striking-looking  person,  with 
a  face  one  was  not  likely  to  forget.  Before  he  had  time 
to  observe  any -niore  they  were  up  to  them. 

"  What  on  e'arith  is  the  matter,  Bessie  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
quick  glance  at  her  companion,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  full 
voice,  with  just  a  slight  South  African  accent,  that  is  tak- 
ing enough  in  a  pretty  woman.  Whereupon  Bessie  broke 


10  'JESS. 

out  with  a  history  of  their  adventure,  appealing  to  her  com- 
panion for  confirmation  at  intervals. 

Meanwhile  her  sister  Jess  stood  quite  still  and  silent, 
and  it  struck  Captain  Niel  that  her  face  was  the  most  sin- 
gularly impassive  one  he  had  ever  seen.  It  never  changed, 
even  when  her  sister  told  how  the  ostrich  rolled  on  her 
and  nearly  killed  her,  or  how  they  finally  subdued  the  foe. 
"  Dear  me,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  what  a  very  remark- 
able woman  !  She  can't  have  much  heart."  But  just  as 
he  thought  it  the  girl  looked  up,  and  then  he  saw  where 
the  expression  lay.  It  was  in  those  remarkable  eyes.  Im- 
passive as  her  face  was,  the  dark  eyes  were  alight  with  life 
and  a  sort  of  excitement  that  made  them  shine  gloriously. 
The  contrast  between  the  shining  eyes  and  the  impassive 
face  beneath  them  struck  him  as  so  extraordinary  as  to  be 
almost  uncanny  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  doubtless 
both  unusual  and  remarkable. 

"  You  have  had  a  wonderful  escape,  but  I  am  sorry  for 
the  bird,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Why  ?"  asked  John. 

"  Because  we  were  great  friends.  I  was  the  only  person 
who  could  manage  him." 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Bessie,  "  the  savage  brute  would  follow 
her  about  like  a  dog.  It  was  just  the  oddest  thing  I  ever 
saw.  But  come  on  ;  we  must  be  getting  home,  it's  grow- 
ing dark.  Mouti"  (medicine) — addressing  the  Kaffir  in 
Zulu — "help  Captain  Niel  on  to  his  horse.  Be  careful 
that  the  saddle  does  not  twist  round  ;  the  girths  may  be 
loose." 

Thus  adjured,  John,  with  the  help  of  the  Zulu,  clambered 
into  his  saddle,  an  example  that  the  lady  quickly  followed, 
and  they  once  more  set  off  through  the  gathering  darkness. 
Presently  he  became  aware  that  they  were  passing  up  a 
drive  bordered  by  tall  blue-gums,  and  next  minute  the 
barking  of  a  large  dog  and  the  sudden  appearance  of 
lighted  windows  told  him  that  they  had  reached  the  house. 


JESS.  11 

At  the  door — or,  rather,  opposite  to  it,  for  there  was  a  ve- 
randa in  front — they  stopped  and  got  off  their  horses.  As 
they  did  so,  out  of  the  house  there  came  a  shout  of  wel- 
come, and  presently  in  the  doorway,  showing  out  clear 
against  the  light,  appeared  a  striking  and,  in  its  way,  most 
pleasant  figure.  He — for  it  was  a  man — was  very  tall,  or, 
rather,  he  had  been  very  tall.  Now  he  was  much  bent 
with  age  and  rheumatism.  His  long  white  hair  hung 
low  upon  his  neck,  and  fell  back  from  a  prominent  brow. 
The  top  of  the  head  was  quite  bald,  like  the  tonsure  of  a 
priest,  and  shone  and  glistened  in  the  lamplight,  and  round 
this  oasis  the  thin  white  locks  fell  down.  The  face  was 
shrivelled  like  the  surface  of  a  well-kept  apple,  and,  like  an 
apple,  rosy  red.  The  features  were  aquiline  and  well- 
marked,  the  eyebrows  still  black  and  very  bushy,  and  be- 
neath them  shone  a  pair  of  gray  eyes,  as  keen  and  bright 
as  hawks'.  But  for  all  its  sharpness,  there  was  nothing 
unpleasant  or  fierce  about  the  face.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  pervaded  by  a  remarkable  air  of  good-nature  and  pleas- 
ant shrewdness.  For  the  rest,  the  man  was  dressed  in 
rough  tweed  clothes,  tall  riding-boots,  and  held  a  broad- 
brimmed  Boer  hunting -hat  in  his  hand.  Such  was  the 
outer  man  of  old  Silas  Croft,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  in  the  Transvaal,  as  John  Niel  first  saw  him. 

"  Is  that  you,  Captain  Niel  ?"  roared  out  the  stentorian 
voice.  "  The  natives  said  you  were  coming.  A  welcome 
to  you  !  I  am  glad  to  see  you — very  glad.  Why,  what  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?"  he  went  on  as  the  Zulu  Mouti  ran 
to  help  him  off  his  horse. 

"  Matter,  Mr.  Croft  ?"  answered  John:  "why,  the  matter 
is  that  your  favorite  ostrich  has  nearly  killed  me  and  your 
niece  here,  and  that  I  have  killed  your  favorite  ostrich." 

Then  followed  explanations  from  Bessie,  during  which 
he  was  helped  off  his  horse  and  into  the  house. 

"  It  serves  me  right,"  said  the  old  man.  "  To  think  of 
it  now,  just  to  think  of  it !  Well,  Bessie,  my  love,  thank 


12  JE&S. 

God  that  you  escaped— aye,  and  you  too,  Captain  Niel. 
Here,  you  boys,  take  the  Scotch  cart  and  a  couple  of  oxen 
and  go  and  fetch  the  brute  home.  We  may  as  well  have 
the  feathers  off  him,  at  any  rate,  before  the  aasvogels  (vult- 
ures) tear  him  to  bits." 

After  he  had  washed  himself  and  tended  his  injuries  with 
arnica  and  water,  John  managed  to  get  into  the  principal 
sitting-room,  where  supper  was  waiting.  It  was  a  Very 
pleasant  room,  furnished  in  European  style,  and  carpeted 
with  mats  made  of  springbuck  skins.  In  the  corner  was 
a  piano,  and  by  it  a  bookcase,  filled  with  the  works  of 
standard  authors,  the  property,  as  John  rightly  guessed, 
of  Bessie's  sister  Jess. 

Supper  went  off  pleasantly  enough,  and  after  it  was  over 
the  two  girls  sang  and  played  while  the  men  smoked.  And 
here  a  fresh  surprise  awaited  him,  for  after  Bessie,  who 
had  now  apparently  almost  recovered  from  her  mauling, 
had  played  a  piece  or  two  creditably  enough,  Jess,  who  so 
far  had  been  nearly  silent,  sat  down  to  the  .piano.  She  did 
not  do  this  willingly,  indeed,  for  it  was- not  until  her  patri- 
archal uncle  had  insisted  in  his  ringing,  cheery  voice  that 
she  should  let  Captain  Niel  hear  how  she  could  sing,  that 
she  consented.  But  at  last  she  did  consent,  and  then,  after 
letting  her  fingers  stray  somewhat  aimlessly  along  the 
chords,  she  suddenly  broke  out  into  such  song  as  John 
Niel  had  never  heard  before.  Her  voice,  beautiful  as  it 
was,  was  not  what  is  known  as  a  cultivated  voice,  and  it 
was  a  German  song,  and  therefore  he  did  not  understand 
it,  but  there  was  no  need  of  words  to  translate  its  burden. 
Passion,  despairing  yet  hoping  through  its  despair,  echoed 
in  its  every  line,  and  love,  unending  love,  hovered  over  the 
glorious  notes— nay,  descended  on  them  like  a  spirit,  and 
made  them  his.  Up!- up!  rang  her- wiLd^-teweet  voice,  thrill- 
ing his  nerves  till  they  answered  to  the  music  as  an 
^Eolian  harp  answers  to  the  winds.  On  went  the  song 
with  a  divine  sweep,  like  the  sweep  of  rushing  pinions; 


JESS.  13 

higher;  higher,  yet  higher,  it  soared,  lifting  up  the  listener's 
heart  far  above  the  world  on  the  trembling  wings  of  sound 
— ay,  even  higher,  till  the  music  hung  at  heaven's  gate,  and 
then  it  fell,  swiftly  as  an  eagle  falls,  quivered,  and  was  dead. 

John  gave  a  gasp,  and,  so  strongly  was  he  moved,  sank 
back  in  his  chair,  feeling  almost  faint  with  the  revulsion  of 
feeling  that  ensued  when  the  notes  had  died  away.  He 
looked  up,  and  caught  Bessie  watching  him  with  an  air  of 
curiosity  and  amusement.  Jess  was  still  leaning  against 
the  piano,  and  gently  touching  the  notes,  over  which  her 
head  was  bent  low,  showing  the  coils  of  curling  hair  which 
were  twisted  round  it  like  a  coronet. 

"Well,  Captain  Niel,"  said  the  old  man,  waving  his  pipe 
in  her  direction,  "  and  what  do  you  say  to  my  singing-bird's 
music,  eh?  Isn't  it  enough  to  draw  the  heart  out  of  a 
man,  eh,  and  turn  his  marrow  to  water,  eh  ?" 

."  I  never  heard  anything  quite  like  it,"  he  answered, 
simply,  "  and  I  have  heard  most  singers.  It  is  beautiful. 
Certainly,  I  never  expected  to  hear  such  singing  in  the 
Transvaal." 

She  turned  quickly,  and  he  observed  that,  though  her 
eyes  were  alight  with  excitement,  her  face  was  as  impas- 
sive as  ever. 

'  "  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  laugh  at  me,  Captain  Niel," 
she  said,  quickly,  and  then,  with  an  abrupt  "  Good-night," 
left  the  room. 

The  old  man  smiled,  jerked  the  stem  of  his  pipe  over  lii* 
shoulder  after  her,  and  winked  in  a  way  that,  no  doubt, 
meant  unutterable  things,  but  which  did  not  convey  much 
to  his  astonished  guest,  who  sat  still  and  said  nothing. 
Then  Bessie  got  up  and  bade  him  good-night  in  her  pleas- 
ant voice,  and  with  housewifely  care  inquired  as  to  whether 
his  room  was  to  his  liking,  and  how  many  blankets  he  liked 
upon  his  bed,  telling  him  that  if  he  found  the  odor  of  the 
moonflowers  that  grew  near  the  veranda  too  strong,  he 
had  better  shut  the  right-hand  window  and  open  that  on 


14  JESS. 

the  other  side  of  the  room ;  and  then  at  length,  with  a 
piquant  little  nod  of  her  golden  head,  she  went  off,  look- 
ing, he  thought  as  he  watched  her  retreating  figure,  about 
as  healthy,  graceful,  and  generally  satisfactory  a  young 
woman  as  a  man  could  wish  to  see. 

"  Take  a  glass  of  grog,  Captain  Niel,"  said  the  old  man, 
pushing  the  square  bottle  towards  him,  "  you'll  need  it 
after  the  mauling  that  brute  gave  you.  By  the  way,  I 
haven't  thanked  you  enough  for  saving  my  Bessie!  But 
I  do  thank  you,  yes,  that  I  do.  I  must  tell  you  that  Bessie 
is  my  favorite  niece.  Never  was  there  such  a  girl — never. 
Moves  like  a  springbuck,  and  what  an  eye  and  form! 
Work,  too — she'll  do  as  much  work  as  three.  There's  no 
nonsense  about  Bessie,  none  at  all.  She's  not  a  fine  lady, 
for  all  her  fine  looks." 

"  The  two  sisters  seem  very  different,"  said  John. 

"  Ay,  you're  right  there,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You'd 
never  think  that  the  same  blood  ran  in  their  veins,  would 
you?  There's  three  years  between  them,  that's  one  thing. 
Bessie's  the  youngest,  you  see — she's  just  twenty,  and  Jess 
is  twenty-three.  Lord,  to  think  that  it  is  twenty-three 
years  since  that  girl  was  born!  And  theirs  was  a  queer 
story  too." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  his  listener,  interrogatively. 

"  Ay,"  he  went  on,  absently,  knocking  out  his  pipe,  and 
refilling  it  out  of  a  big  brown  jar  of  coarse-cut  Boer 
tobacco,  "  I'll  tell  it  to  you  if  you  like ;  you  are  going  to 
live  in  the  house,  and  you  may  as  well  know  it.  I  am 
sure,  Captain  Niel,  that  it  will  go  no  further.  You  see  I 
was  born  in  England,  yes,  and  well-born  too.  I  come  from 
Cambridgeshire — from  the  fat  fen-land  down  round  Ely. 
My  father  was  a  clergyman.  Well,  he  wasn't  rich,  and 
when  I  was  twenty  he  gave  me  his  blessing,  thirty  sover- 
eigns in  my  pocket,  and  my  passage  to  the  Cape  ;  and  I 
shook  his  hand,  God  bless  him,  and  off  I  came,  and  here  in 
the  old  colony  and  this  country  I  have  been  for  fifty  years, 


JESS.  15 

for  I  was  seventy  yesterday.  .Well,  I'll  tell  you  more 
about  that  another  time,  it's  about  the  girls  I'm  speaking 
now.  After  I  left  home — twenty  years  after,  or  hard  on 
it — my  dear  old  father  married  again,  a  youngish  woman 
with  some  money  but  beneath  him  somewhat  in  life,  and 
by  her  he  had  one  son  and  then  died.  Well,  it  was  but 
little  I  heard  of  my  half-brother,  except  that  he  had  turned 
out  very  badly,  married,  and  taken  to  drink,  till  one  night 
some  twelve  years  ago,  when  a  strange  thing  happened.  I 
was  sitting  here  in  this  very  room,  ay,  in  this  very  chair 
— for  this  part  of  the  house  was  up  then,  though  the  wings 
weren't  built — and  smoking  my  pipe,  and  listening  to  the 
lashing  of  the  rain,  for  it  was  a  very  foul  night,  when  sud- 
denly an  old  pointer  dog  I  had,  named  Ben,  gave  a  bark. 

" '  Lie  down,  Ben,  it's  only  the  Kaffirs,'  said  I. 

"  Just  then  I  thought  I  heard  a  faint  sort  of  rapping  at 
the  door,  and  Ben  barked  again,  so  I  got  up  and  opened  it, 
and  jn  came  two  little  girls  wrapped  up  in  old  shawls  or 
some  such  gear.  Well,  I  shut  the  door,  looking  out  first  to 
see  if  there  were  any  more  outside,  and  then  I  stood  and 
stared  at  the  two  Irttle  things  with  my  mouth  open.  There 
they  stood,  hand  m  hand,  the  water  dripping  from  both  of 
them,  and  the  elde*st  might  have  been  eleven,  and  the  second 
about  eight.  They  didn't  say  anything,  but  the  eldest 
turned  and  took  the  shawl  and  hat -off  the  younger — that 
was  Bessie — and  there  was  her  sweet  little  face  and  her 
golden  hair,  and  damp  enough  both  of  them  were,  and  she 
put  her  thumb  2h  her  mouth,  and  stood  and  looked  at  me 
till  I  began  to  think  that  I  was  dreaming. 

"  '  Please,  sir,'  said  the  biggest  at  last,  '  is  this  Mr.  Croft's 
house — Mr.  Croft — South  African  Republic?' 

" '  Yes,  little  thiss,  this  is  his  house,  and  this  is  the  South 
African  Republic,  and  I  am  he.  And  now  who  might  you 
be,  my  dears  ?'  I  answered. 

" '  If  you  please,  sir,  we  are  your  nieces,  and  we  have 
come  to  you  from  England.' 


16  JESS. 

"  'What!'  I  halloaed,  startled  out  of  my  wits,  as  well  I 
might  be. 

" '  Oh,  sir,'  says  the  poor  little  thing,  clasping  her  thin, 
wet  hands,  '  please  don't  send  us  away.  Bessie  is  so  wet, 
and  cold  and  hungry  too,  she  isn't  fit  to  go  any  farther.' 

"  And  she  set  to  work  to  cry,  whereon  the  little  one  cried 
too,  from  fright  and  cold  and  sympathy. 

"  Well,  of  course  I  took  them  both  to  the  fire,  and  set 
them  on  my  knees,  and  halloaed  for  Hebe,  the  old  Hotten- 
tot woman  who  did  my'cooking,  and  between  us  we  un- 
dressed them,  and  wrapped  them  up  in  some  old  clothes, 
and  fed  them  with  soup  and  wine,  so  that  in  half  an  hour 
they  were  quite  happy  and  not  a  bit'  frightened. 

"  '  And  now,  young  ladies,'  I  said,  '  come  and  give  me  a 
kiss,  both  of  you,  and  tell  me  how  you  came  here.' 

"  And  this  is  the  tale  they  told  me — completed,  of  course, 
from  what  I  learned  afterwards — andean  odd  one  it  is.  It 
seems  that  my  half-brother  married  a  Norfolk  lady — a 
sweet  young  thing — and  treated  her  like  a  dog.  He  was  a 
drunken  rascal,  was  my  half-brother,  and  he  beat  his  poor 
wife  and  shamefully  neglected  her,  and;even  ill-treated  the 
two  little  girls,  till  at  last  the  poor  woinan,  weak  as  she 
was  from  suffering  and  ill-health,  could' bear  it  no  longer, 
and  formed  the  wild*  idea  of  escaping  to- this  country  and 
throwing  herself  upon  my  protection.  It  will  show  how 
desperate  she  must  have  been.  She  scraped  together  and 
borrowed  some  money,  enough  to  pay  for  tbree  second-class 
passages  to  Natal  and  a  few  pounds  ovfer,  and  one  day, 
when  her  brute  of  a  husband  was  away  on  the  drink  and 
gamble,  she  slipped  on  board  a  sailing-ship  in  the  London 
docks,  and  before  he  knew  anything  about  it  they  were 
well  out  to  sea.  But  it  was  her  last  effort,  poor  dear  soul, 
and  the  excitement  of  it  finished  her.  Before  they  had 
been  ten  days  at  sea  she  s'ank  and  died,  and  the  two  poor 
children  were  left  alone.  And  what  they  must  have  suf- 
fered, or  rather  what  poor  Jess  must  have  suffered,  for  she 


JESS.  11 

was  old  enough  to  feel,  God  only  knows.  But  I  can  tell 
you  this,  she  has  never  got  over  the  shock  to  this  hour.  It 
has  left  its  mark  on  her,  sir.  But,  let  people  say  what  they 
will,  there  is  a  Power  that  looks  after  the  helpless,  and 
that  Power  took  those  poor,  homeless,  wandering  children 
under  its  wing.  The  captain  of  the  vessel  befriended  them, 
and  when  at  last  they  got  to  Durban  some  of  the  passen- 
gers made  a  subscription,  and  got  an  old  Boer,  who  was 
coming  up  this  way  with  his  wife  to  the  Transvaal,  to  take 
them  under  his  charge.  The  Boer  and  his  vrouw  treated 
the  children  fairly  well,  but  they  did  not  do  one  thing  more 
than  they  bargained  for.  At  the  turn  from  the  Wakker- 
stroom  road,  that  you  came  along  to  day,  they  put  the 
children  down,  for  they  had  no  luggage  with  them,  and 
told  them  that  if  they  went  along  there  they  would  come 
to  Meinheer  Croft's  house.  That  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  they  were  till  eight  o'clock  getting  here, 
poor  little  dears,  for  the  track  was  fainter  then  than  it  is 
now,  and  they  wandered  off  into  the  veldt,  and  would  have 
perished  there  in  the  wet  and  cold  had  they  not  chanced 
to  see  the  lights  of  the  house.  And  that  was  how  my  nieces 
came  here,  Captain  Niel.  And  here  they  have  been  ever 
since,  except  for  a  couple  of  years  when  I  sent  them  to  the 
Cape  for  schooling,  and  a  lonely  man  I  was  when  they 
were  away." 

"  And  how  about  the  father  ?"  asked  John  Niel,  deeply 
interested.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  any  more  of  him  ?" 

"Hear  of  him,  the  villain!"  almost  shouted  the  old  man, 
jumping  up  in  wrath.  "Aye,  d — n  him,  I  heard  of  him. 
What  do  you  think  ?  The  two  chicks  had  been  with  me 
some  eighteen  months,  long  enough  for  me  to  learn  to  love 
them  with  all  my  heart,  when  one  fine  morning,  as  I  was 
seeing  about  the  new  kraal  wall,  I  see  a  fellow  come  riding 
up  on  an  old  raw-boned  gray  horse.  Up  he  comes  to  me, 
and  as  he  came  I  looked  at  him,  and  said  to  myself,  '  You 
are  a  drunkard,  you  are,  and  a  rogue;  it's  written  on  your 
2 


18  JESS. 

face,  and,  what's  more,  I  know  your  face.'  You  see  I  did 
not  guess  that  it  was  a  son  of  my  own  father's  that  I  was 
looking  at.  How  should  I  ? 

" '  Is  your  name  Croft  ?'  he  said. 

"  '  Ay,'  I  answered. 

" '  So  is  mine,'  he  went  on  with  a  sort  of  a  drunken  leer. 
*  I'm  your  brother.' 

"  '  Are  you  ?'  I  said,  beginning  to  get  my  back  up,  for  I 
guessed  what  his  game  was,  '  and  what  may  you  be  after? 
I  tell  you  at  once,  and  to  your  face,  that  if  you  are  my 
brother  you  are  a  blackguard,  and  I  don't  want  to  know 
you  or  have  anything  to  do  with  you ;  and  if  you  are  not, 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  coupling  you  with  such  a  scoundrel.' 

" '  Oh,  that's  your  tune  is  it  ?'  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 
'Well,  now,  my  dear  brother  Silas,  I  want  my  children. 
They  have  got  a  little  half-brother  at  home — for  I  have 
married  again,  Silas — who  is  anxious  to  have  them  to  play 
with,  so  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  hand  them  over,  I'll 
take  them  away  at  once.' 

" '  You'll  take  them  away,  will  you  ?'  said  I,  all  of  a 
tremble  with  rage  and  fear. 

" '  Yes,  Silas,  I  will.  They  are  mine  by  law,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  breed  children  for  you  to  have  the  comfort  of 
their  society.  I've  taken  advice,  Silas,  and  that's  sound 
law,'  and  he  leered  at  me  again. 

"  I  stood  and  looked  at  the  man,  and  thought  of  how  he 
had  treated  those  poor  children  and  their  young  mother, 
and  my  blood  boiled,  and  I  grew  mad.  Without  another 
word  I  jumped  over  the  half -finished  wall,  and  caught  him 
by  the  leg  (for  I  was  a  strong  man  ten  years  ago)  and 
jerked  him  off  the  horse.  As  he  came  down  he  dropped 
the  sjambock  from  his  hand,  and  I  caught  hold  of  it  and 
then  and  there  gave  him  the  soundest  hiding  a  man  ever 
had.  Lord,  how  he  did  halloa !  When  I  was  tired  I  let 
him  get  up. 

"  *  Now,'  I  said,  '  be  off  with  you,  and  if  you  come  back 


JESS.  ig 

here  I'll  bid  the  Kaffirs  hunt  you  back  to  Natal  with  their 
sticks.  This  is  the  South  African  Republic,  and  we  don't 
care  overmuch  about  law  here.'  Which  we  didn't  in  those 
days. 

" '  All  right,  Silas,'  he  said,  '  all  right,  you  shall  pay  for 
this.  I'll  have  those  children,  and,  for  your  sake,  I'll  make 
their  life  a  hell — you  mark  my  words — South  African 
Republic  or  no  South  African  Republic.  I've  got  the  law 
on  my  side.' 

"  Off  he  rode,  cursing  and  swearing,  and  I  flung  his 
sjambock  after  him.  And  it  was  the  first  and  last  time 
that  I  saw  my  brother." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?"  asked  John  Niel. 

"I'll  tell  you,  just  to  show  you  again  that  there  is  a 
Power  that  keeps  just  such  men  in  its  eye.  He  got  back 
to  Newcastle  that  night,  and  went  about  the  canteen  there 
abusing  me,  and  getting  drunker  and  drunker,  till  at  last 
the  canteen  keeper  sent  for  his  boys  to  turn  him  out.  Well, 
the  boys  were  rough,  as  Kaffirs  are  apt  to  be  with  a 
drunken  white  man,  and  he  struggled  and  fought,  and  in 
the  middle  of  it  the  blood  began  to  run  from  his  mouth, 
and  he  dropped  down  dead  of  a  broken  blood-vessel,  and 
there  was  an  end  of  him.  That  is  the  story  of  the  two 
girls,  Captain  Niel,  and  now  I  am  off  to  bed.  To-morrow 
I'll  show  you  round  the  farm,  and  we  will  have  a  talk 
about  business.  Good-night  to  you,  Captain  Kiel.  Good- 
night!" 


CHAPTER   m. 

MR.    FRANK    MULLER. 

JOHN  NIEL  woke  early  the  next  morning,  feeling  as  sore 
and  stiff  as  though  he  had  been  well  beaten  and  then 
strapped  up  tight  in  horse-girths.  He  made  shift,  how- 
ever, to  dress  himself,  and  then,  with  the  help  of  a  stick, 
limped  through  the  French  windows  that  opened  from  his 
room  on  to  the  veranda  and  surveyed  the  scene  before 
him.  It  was  a  delightful  spot.  At  the  back  of  the  house 
was  the  steep  bowlder-strewn  face  of  the  flat-topped  hill 
that  curved  round  on  each  side,  embosoming  a  great  slope 
of  green,  in  the  lap  of  which  the  house  was  placed.  The 
house  itself  was  solidly  built  of  brown  stone,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  wagon-shed  and  other  outhouses,  which 
were  roofed  with  galvanized  iron  that  shone  and  glistened 
in  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  in  a  way  that  would  have 
made  an  eagle  blink,  was  covered  with  rich  brown  thatch. 
All  along  its  front  ran  a  wide  veranda,  up  the  trellis-work 
of  which  green  vines  and  blooming  creepers  trailed  pleas- 
antly, and  beyond  was  the  broad  carriage-drive  of  red  soil, 
bordered  with  bushy  orange-trees  laden  with  odorous  flow- 
ers and  green  and  golden  fruit.  On  the  farther  side  of  the 
orange-trees  were  the  gardens,  fenced  in  with  low  walls  of 
rough  stone,  and  the  orchard  full  of  standard  fruit-trees, 
and  beyond  these  again  the  oxen  and  ostrich  kraals,  the 
latter  full  of  long-necked  birds.  To  the  right  of  the  house 
grew  thriving  plantations  of  blue-gum  and  black  wattle, 
and  to  the  left  was  a  broad  stretch  of  cultivated  lands, 
lying  so  that  they  could  be  irrigated  for  winter  crops  by 


JESS.  21 

means  of  water  led  from  the  great  spring  that  gushed  from 
the  mountain-side  high  above  the  house  and  gave  its  name 
of  Mooifontein  to  the  place. 

All  these  and  many  more  things  John  Niel  saw  as  he 
looked  out  from  the  veranda  at  Mooifontein,  but,  for  the 
moment  at  any  rate,  they  were  lost  in  the  wild  and  wonder- 
ful beauty  of  the  panorama  that  rolled  away  for  miles  and 
miles  at  his  feet,  till  it  was  ended  by  the  mighty  range  of 
the  Drakensberg  to  the  left,  tipped  here  and  there  with 
snow,  and  by  the  dim  and  vast  horizon  of  the  swelling 
Transvaal  plains  to  the  right  and  far  in  front  of  him.  It 
was  a  beautiful  sight,  and  one  to  make  the  blood  run  in  a 
man's  veins  and  his  heart  beat  happily  because  he  was  alive 
to  see  it.  Mile  upon  mile  of  grass-clothed  veldt  beneath, 
bending  and  rippling  like  a  corn-field  in  the  quick  breath 
of  the  morning,  space  upon  space  of  deep  blue  sky  over- 
head with  ne'er  a  cloud  to  dim  it,  and  the  swift  rush  of  the 
wind  between.  Then  to  the  left  there,  impressive  to  look 
on  and  conducive  to  solemn  thoughts,  the  mountains  rear 
their  crests  against  the  sky,  and,  crowned  with  the  gath- 
ered snows  of  the  centuries  whose  monuments  they  are, 
from  aeon  to  aeon  gaze  majestically  out  over  the  wide  plains 
and  the  ephemeral,  antlike  races  that  tread  them,  and 
while  they  endure  think  themselves  the  masters  of  their 
little  world.  And  over  all — mountain,  plain,  and  flashing 
stream — the  glorious  light  of  the  African  sun  and  the 
Spirit  of  Life  moving  now  as  it  once  moved  upon  the  dark- 
ling waters. 

John  stood  and  gazed  at  the  untamed  beauty  of  the 
scene,  in  his  mind  comparing  it  to  many  cultivated  views 
that  he  had  known,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion  that, 
however  desirable  the  presence  of  civilized  man  might  be 
in  the  world,  it  could  not  be  said  that  his  operations  really 
added  to  its  beauty.  For  the  old  line,  "  Nature  unadorned 
adorned  the  most,"  still  remains  true  in  more  senses  than 
one.  Presently  his  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  step 


22  JESS. 

of  Silas  Croft,  which,  notwithstanding  his  age  and  bent 
frame,  still  rang  firm  enough — and  he  turned  to  greet 
him. 

"Well,  Captain  Niel,"  said  the  old  man,  "up  already! 
It  looks  well  if  you  mean  to  take  to  farming.  Yes,  it's 
a  pretty  view,  and  a  pretty  place,  too.  Well,  I  made 
it.  Twenty-five  years  ago  I  rode  up  here  and  saw  this 
spot.  Look,  you  see  that  rock  there  behind  the  house;  I 
slept  under  it  and  woke  at  sunrise  and  looked  out  at  this 
beautiful  view  and  at  the  great  veldt  (it  was  all  alive  with 
game  then),  and  I  said  to  myself,  'Silas,  for  five-and- 
twenty  years  have  you  wandered  about  this  great  country, 
and  now  you  are  getting  tired  of  it;  you've  never  seen  a 
fairer  spot  than  this  or  a  healthier;  now  be  a  wise  man 
and  stop  here.'  And  so  I  did.  I  bought  the  three  thou- 
sand morgen  (six  thousand  acres),  more  or  less,  for  £10 
down  and  a  case  of  gin,  and  I  set  to  work  to  make  this 
place,  and  you  see  I  have  made  it.  Ay,  it  has  grown 
under  my  hand,  every  stone  and  tree  of  it,  and  you  know 
what  that  means  in  a  new  country.  But  one  way  and  an- 
other I  have  done  it,  and  now  I  have  got  too  old  to  man- 
age it,  and  that's  how  I  came  to  give  out  that  I  wanted  a 
partner,  as  old  Snow  told  you  down  in  Durban.  You  see, 
I  told  Snow  it  must  be  a  gentleman;  I  don't  care  much 
about  the  money,  I'll  take  a  thousand  for  a  third  share  if 
I  can  get  a  gentleman — none  of  your  Boers  or  mean  whites 
for  me.  I  tell  you  I  have  had  enough  of  Boers  and  their 
ways;  the  best  day  of  my  life  was  when  old  Shepstone  ran 
up  the  Union  Jack  there  in  Pretoria  and  I  could  call  my- 
self an  Englishman  again.  Lord!  and  to  think  that  there 
are  men  who  are  subjects  of  the  queen  and  want  to  be 
subjects  of  a  republic  again !  Mad !  Captain  Kiel,  I  tell 
you,  quite  mad!  However,  there's  an  end  of  it  all  now. 
You  know  what  Sir  Garnet  Wolseley  told  them  in  the 
name  of  the  queen  up  at  the  Vaal  River,  that  this  country 
would  remain  English  till  the  sun  stood  still  in  the  heavens 


JESS.  23 

and  the  waters  of  the  Vaal  ran  backwards.  That's  good 
enough  for  me,  for,  as  I  tell  these  grumbling  fellows  who 
want  the  land  back  now  that  we  have  paid  their  debts  and 
defeated  their  enemies,  no  English  government  goes  back 
on  its  word,  or  breaks  engagements  solemnly  entered  into 
by  its  representatives.  We  leave  that  sort  of  thing  to 
foreigners.  No,  no,  Captain  Niel,  I  would  not  ask  you  to 
take  a  share  in  this  place  if  I  wasn't  sure  that  it  would  re- 
main under  the  British  flag.  But  we  will  talk  of  all  this 
another  time,  and  now  come  in  to  breakfast." 

After  breakfast,  as  John  was  far  too  lame  to  go  about 
the  farm,  the  fair  Bessie  suggested  that  he  should  come 
and  help  her  to  wash  a  batch  of  ostrich  feathers,  and,  ac- 
cordingly, off  he  went.  The  locus  operandi  was  in  a  space 
of  grass  in  the  rear  of  a  little  clump  of  "  naatche  "  orange- 
trees,  of  which  the  fruit  is  like  that  of  the  Maltese  orange, 
only  larger.  Here  were  placed  an  ordinary  washing-tub 
half  filled  with  warm  water  and  a  tin  bath  full  of  cold. 
The  ostrich  feathers,  many  of  which  were  completely 
coated  with  red  dirt,  were  plunged  first  into  the  tub  of 
warm  water,  where  John  Niel  scrubbed  them  with  soap, 
and  then  transferred  to  the  tin  bath,  where  Bessie  rinsed 
them  and  then  laid  them  on  a  sheet  in  the  sun  to  dry. 
The  morning  was  very  pleasant,  and  John  soon  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  are  many  more  disagreeable 
occupations  in  the  world  than  the  washing  of  ostrich 
feathers  with  a  lovely  girl  to  help  you  ;  for  there  was  no 
doubt  but  that  she  was  lovely,  a  very  type  of  happy, 
healthy  womanhood,  as  she  sat  there  opposite  to  him  on 
the  little  stool,  her  sleeves  rolled  up  almost  to  the  shoul- 
der, showing  a  pair  of  arms  that  would  not  have  disgraced 
a  statue  of  Venus,  and  laughed  and  chatted  away  as  she 
washed  the  feathers.  Now,  John  Niel  was  not  a  suscepti- 
ble man:  he  had  gone  through  the  fire  years  before  and 
burned  his  fingers  like  many  another  confiding  youngster; 
but,  all  the  same,  he  did  wonder,  as  he  sat  there  and  watched 


24  JESS. 

this  fair  girl,  who  somehow  reminded  him  of  a  rich  rose- 
bud bursting  into  bloom,  how  long  it  would  be  possible 
to  live  in  the  same  house  with  her  without  falling  under 
the  spell  of  her  charm  and  beauty.  And  then  he  began 
to  think  of  Jess,  and  what  a  strange  contrast  the  two 
were. 

"  Where  is  your  sister  ?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"  Jess  ?  Oh,  I  think  that  she  has  gone  to  the  Lion  Kloof, 
reading  or  sketching,  I  don't  know  which.  You  see  in 
this  establishment  I  represent  labor  and  Jess  represents 
intellect,"  and  she  nodded  her  head  prettily  at  him,  and 
added,  "  There  is  a  mistake  somewhere ;  she  got  all  the 
brains." 

"  Ah,"  said  John,  quietly,  and  looking  up  at  her,  "  I  don't 
think  that  you  are  entitled  to  complain  of  the  way  that 
nature  has  treated  you." 

She  blushed  a  little,  more  at  the  tone  of  his  voice  than 
the  words,  and  went  on  hastily,  "  Jess  is  the  dearest,  best, 
and  cleverest  woman  in  the  whole  world — there,  I  believe 
that  she  has  only  one  fault,  and  that  is  that  she  thinks  too 
much  about  me.  Uncle  told  me  that  he  had  told  you  how 
we  came  here  first  when  I  was  eight  years  old.  Well,  I 
remember  that  when  we  lost  our  way  on  the  veldt  that 
night,  and  it  rained  so  and  was  so  cold,  Jess  took  off  her 
own  shawl  and  wrapped  it  round  me  over  my  own.  Well, 
it  has  been  just  like  that  with  her  always.  I  am  always 
to  have  the  shawl — everything  is  to  give  way  to  me.  But 
there,  that  is  Jess  all  over;  she  is  very  cold,  cold  as  a  stone, 
I  sometimes  think,  but  when  she  does  care  for  anybody  it 
is  enough  to  frighten  one.  I  don't  know  a  great  number 
of  women,  but  somehow  I  don't  think  that  there  can  be 
many  in  the  world  like  Jess.  She  is  too  good  for  this 
wild  place,  she  ought  to  go  away  to  England  and  write 
books  and  become  a  famous  woman,  only — "  she  added, 
reflectively,  "  I  am  afraid  that  Jess's  books  would  all  be 
sad  ones." 


JESS.  25 

Just  then  Bessie  stopped  and  suddenly  changed  color, 
the  bunch  of  lank,  wet  feathers  she  held  in  her  hand 
dropping  from  it  with  a  little  splash  back  into  the  bath. 
Following  her  glance,  John  looked  down  the  avenue  of 
blue-gum  trees  and  perceived  a  big  man  with  a  broad  hat 
and  mounted  on  a  splendid  black  horse,  cantering  leisurely 
towards  the  house. 

"  Who  is  that,  Miss  Croft  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  a  man  I  don't  like,"  she  said,  with  a  little  stamp 
of  her  foot.  "His  name  is  Frank  Muller,  and  he  is  half  a 
Boer  and  half  an  Englishman.  He  is  very  rich,  and  very 
clever,  and  owns  all  the  land  round  this  place,  so  uncle  has 
to  be  civil  to  him,  though  he  does  not  like  him  either.  I 
wonder  what  he  wants  now." 

On  came  the  horse,  and  John  thought  that  its  rider  was 
going  to  pass  without  seeing  them,  when  suddenly  the 
movement  of  Bessie's  dress  between  the  "  naatche  "  trees 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  pulled  up  and  looked  round.  He  was 
a  large  and  exceedingly  handsome  man,  apparently  about 
forty  years  old,  with  clear-cut  features,  cold,  light-blue 
eyes,  and  a  remarkable  golden  beard  that  hung  right  down 
over  his  chest.  For  a  Boer  he  was  rather  smartly  dressed, 
in  English-made  tweed  clothes  and  tall  riding-boots. 

"Ah,  Miss  Bessie," he  called  out  in  English,  "there  you 
are,  with  your  pretty  arms  all  bare.  I'm  in  luck  to  come 
just  in  time  to  see  them.  Shall  I  come  and  help  you  to 
wash  the  feathers  ?  Only  say  the  word,  now — " 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  John  Niel  and  checked 
himself. 

"  I  have  come  to  look  for  a  black  ox,  branded  with  a 
heart  and  a  '  W  inside  of  the  heart.  Do  you  know  if 
your  uncle  has  seen  it  on  the  place  anywhere  ?" 

"  No,  Meinheer  Muller,"  replied  Bessie,  coldly,  "  but  he 
is  down  there,"  pointing  at  a  kraal  on  the  plain  some  half- 
mile  away,  "if  you  want  to  go  and  ask  about  it." 

"  Mr.  Muller,"  said  he,  by  way  of  correction,  and  with  a 


26  JESS. 

curious  contraction  of  the  brow.  " '  Meinheer '  is  all  very 
well  for  the  Boers,  but  we  are  all  Englishmen  now.  Well, 
the  ox  can  wait.  With  your  permission,  I'll  stop  here  till 
'Oom'  Croft  (Uncle  Croft)  conies  back,"  and,  without 
further  ado,  he  jumped  off  his  horse  and,  slipping  the  reins 
over  its  head  as  an  indication  to  it  to  stand  still,  advanced 
towards  Bessie  with  outstretched  hand.  As  he  did  so  the 
young  lady  plunged  both  her  arms  up  to  the  elbows  in  the 
bath,  and  it  struck  John,  who  was  observing  the  whole 
scene,  that  she  did  this  in  order  to  avoid  the  necessity  of 
shaking  hands  with  her  stalwart  visitor. 

"  Sorry  my  hands  are  wet,"  she  said,  giving  him  a  cold 
little  nod.  "Let  me  introduce  you,  Mr.  (with  emphasis) 
Frank  Muller — Captain  Kiel — who  has  come  to  help  my 
uncle  with  the  place." 

John  stretched  out  his  hand  and  Muller  shook  it. 

"Captain,"  he  said,  interrogatively;  "a  ship  captain,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"No,"  said  John,  "a  captain  of  the  English  army." 

"  Oh,  a  rooibaatje  (red  jacket).  Well,  I  don't  wonder 
at  your  taking  to  farming  after  the  Zulu  war." 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  said  John,  rather 
coldly. 

"  Oh,  no  offence,  captain,  no  offence.  I  only  meant  that 
you  rooibaatje  did  not  come  very  well  out  of  the  war.  I 
was  there  with  Piet  Uys,  and  it  was  a  sight,  I  can  tell  you. 
A  Zulu  had  only  to  show  himself  at  night  and  one  would 
see  your  regiments  skreck  (stampede)  like  a  span  of 
oxen  when  they  wind  a  lion.  And  then  they'd  fire — ah, 
they  did  fire — anyhow,  anywhere,  but  mostly  at  the  clouds, 
there  was  no  stopping  them;  and  so,  you  see,  I  thought 
that  you  would  like  to  turn  your  sword  into  a  ploughshare, 
as  the  Bible  says — but  no  offence,  I'm  sure — no  offence." 

All  this  while  John  Niel,  being  English  to  his  backbone, 
and  cherishing  the  reputation  of  his  profession  almost  as 
dearly  as  his  own  honor,  was  boiling  with  inward  wrath, 


JESS.  27 

which  was  all  the  fiercer  because  he  knew  that  there  was 
some  truth  in  the  Boer's  insults.  He  had  the  sense,  how- 
ever, to  keep  his  temper — outwardly,  at  any  rate. 

"  I  was  not  in  the  Zulu  war,  Mr.  Muller,"  he  said,  and 
just  then  old  Silas  Croft  came  riding  up,  and  the  conver- 
sation dropped. 

Mr.  Frank  Muller  stopped  to  dinner  and  far  on  into  the 
afternoon.  His  lost  ox  seemed  to  have  entirely  slipped 
his  memory.  There  he  sat,  close  to  the  fair  Bessie,  smok- 
ing and  drinking  gin-and-water,  and  talking  with  great 
volubility  in  English  sprinkled  with  Boer-Dutch  terms 
that  John  Niel  did  not  understand,  and  gazing  at  the  young 
lady  in  a  manner  which  John  somehow  found  unpleasant. 
Of  course  it  was  no  affair  of  his,  and  he  had  no  interest  in 
the  matter,  but  for  all  that  he  found  the  remarkable-look- 
ing Dutchman  exceedingly  disagreeable.  At  last,  indeed, 
he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  hobbled  out  for  a  little  walk 
with  Jess,  who,  in  her  abrupt  way,  offered  to  show  him  the 
garden. 

"  You  don't  like  that  man  ?"  she  said  to  him,  as  they 
slowly  went  down  the  slope  in  front  of  the  house. 

"No;  do  you?" 

"  I  think,"  replied  Jess,  slowly  and  with  much  emphasis, 
"  that  he  is  the  most  odious  man  that  I  ever  saw  and  the 
most  curious  ;"  and  then  she  relapsed  into  silence,  only 
broken  now  and  again  by  an  occasional  remark  about  the 
flowers  and  trees. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  when  they  arrived  again  at  the 
top  of  the  slope,  Mr.  Muller  was  just  riding  off  down  the 
avenue  of  blue-gums.  By  the  veranda  stood  a  Hottentot 
named  Jautje,  who  had  been  holding  the  Dutchman's  horse. 
He  was  a  curious,  wizened-up  little  fellow,  dressed  in  rags, 
and  with  hair  like  the  worn  tags  of  a  black  woollen  carpet. 
His  age  might  have  been  anything  between  twenty-five  and 
sixty  ;  it  was  impossible  to  form  any  opinion  on  the  point. 
Just  now,  however,  his  yellow  monkey  face  was  convulsed 


28  JESS. 

with  an  expression  of  intense  malignity,  and  he  was  stand- 
ing there  in  the  sunshine  cursing  rapidly  and  beneath  his 
breath  in  Dutch,  and  shaking  his  fist  after  the  retreating 
Boer — a  very  epitome  of  impotent,  overmastering  passion. 

"  What  is  he  doing  ?"  asked  John. 

Jess  laughed.  "  Jantje  does  not  like  Frank  Muller  any 
more  than  I  do,  but  I  don't  know  why.  He  will  never 
tell  me." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BESSIE    IS    ASKED    IN   MARRIAGE. 

IN  due  course  John  Niel  got  over  his  sprained  ankle 
and  the  other  injuries  inflicted  on  him  by  the  infuriated 
cock  ostrich  (it  is,  by  the  way,  a  humiliating  thing  to  be 
knocked  out  of  time  by  a  feathered  fowl),  and  set  to  work 
to  learn  the  routine  of  farm  life.  He  did  not  find  this  a 
disagreeable  task,  especially  when  he  had  so  fair  an  in- 
structi'ess  as  Bessie,  who  knew  all  about  it,  to  show  him 
the  way  in  which  he  should  go.  Naturally  of  an  ener- 
getic and  hard-working  temperament,  he  very  soon  got 
more  or  less  into  the  swing  of  the  thing,  and  at  the  end 
of  six  weeks  began  to  talk  quite  learnedly  of  cattle  and 
ostriches  and  sweet  and  sour  veldt.  About  once  a  week 
or  so  Bessie  used  to  put  him  through  a  regular  examina- 
tion as  to  his  progress;  also  she  gave  him  lessons  in  Dutch 
and  Zulu,  both  of  which  tongues  she  spoke  to  perfection ; 
so  it  will  be  seen  that  he  did  not  lack  for  pleasant  and 
profitable  employment.  Another  thing  was  that  he  grew 
much  attached  to  old  Silas  Croft.  The  old  gentleman, 
with  his  handsome,  honest  face,  his  large  and  varied  stock 
of  experience,  and  his  sturdy  English  character,  made  a 
great  impression  on  his  mind.  He  had  never  met  a  man 
quite  like  him  before.  Nor  was  the  liking  unrecipro- 
cated, for  his  host  took  a  wonderful  fancy  to  John  Niel. 
"  You  see,  my  dear,"  he  explained  to  his  niece  Bessie, 
"he's  quiet,  and  he  doesn't  know  much  about  farming, 
but  he's  willing  to  learn,  and  he's  such  a  gentleman.  Now, 
where  one  has  Kaffirs  to  deal  with,  as  on  a  place  like  this, 


30  JESS. 

you  must  have  a  gentleman.  Your  mean  white  will  never 
get  anything  out  of  a  Kaffir;  that's  why  the  Boers  kill 
them  and  flog  them,  because  they  can't  get  anything  out 
of  them  without.  But  you  see  Captain  Niel  gets  on  well 
enough  with  them.  I  think  he'll  do,  my  dear,  I  think 
he'll  do,"  and  Bessie  quite  agreed  with  him.  And  so  it 
came  to  pass  that  after  this  six  weeks'  trial  the  bargain 
was  finally  struck,  and  John  paid  over  his  thousand 
pounds  and  took  a  third  interest  in  Mooifontein. 

Now  it  is  not  possible,  in  a  general  way,  for  a  young- 
ish man  like  John  Niel  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  a 
young  and  lovely  woman  like  Bessie  Croft  without  run- 
ning more  or  less  risk  of  entanglement.  More  especially 
is  this  so  where  the  two  people  have  little  or  no  outside 
society  or  distraction  to  divert  the  attention  from  each 
other.  Not  that  there  was  as  yet,  at  any  rate,  the  slight- 
est hint  of  affection  between  them.  Only  they  liked  one 
another  very  much,  and  found  it  pleasant  to  be  a  good 
deal  together.  In  short,  they  were  walking  along  that 
easy,  winding  road  that  leads  to  the  mountain  paths  of 
love.  It  is  a  very  broad  road,  like  another  road  that  rune 
elsewhere,  and,  also  like  this  last,  it  has  a  wide  gate. 
Sometimes,  too,  it  leads  to  destruction.  But  for  all  that 
it  is  a  most  agreeable  one  to  follow  hand-in-hand,  winding 
as  it  does  through  the  pleasant  meadows  of  companion- 
ship. The  view  is  rather  limited,  it  is  true,  and  homelike 
— full  of  familiar  things.  There  stand  the  kine,  knee- 
deep  in  the  grass;  there  runs  the  water;  and  there  grows 
the  corn.  Also  one  can  stop  if  one  likes.  By  and  by  it 
grows  different.  By  and  by,  when  the  travellers  tread 
the  heights  of  passion,  precipices  will  yawn  and  torrents 
rush,  lightning  will  fall  and  storms  will  blind;  and  who 
can  know  that  they  will  attain  at  last  to  that  far-off 
peak,  crowned  with  the  glory  of  a  perfect  peace  which 
men  call  happiness?  There  are  those  who  say  it  never 
can  be  reached,  and  that  the  halo  which  rests  upon  its 


JESS.  31 

slopes  is  no  earthly  light,  but  rather,  as  it  were,  a  promise 
and  a  beacon — a  glow  reflected  whence  we  know  not,  and 
lying  on  this  alien  earth  as  the  sun's  light  lies  on  the  dead 
bosom  of  the  moon.  Some  say,  again,  that  they  have 
climbed  its  topmost  pinnacle  and  tasted  of  the  fresh 
breath  of  heaven  that  sweeps  around  its  heights — ay,  and 
heard  the  quiring  of  immortal  harps  and  the  swaulike 
sigh  of  angels'  wings;  and  then  behold  !  a  mist  has  fallen 
upon  them,  and  they  have  wandered  in  it,  and  when  it 
cleared  they  were  on  the  mountain  paths  again,  and  the 
peak  was  far  away.  And  a  few'  there  are  who  tell  us 
that  they  live  there  always,  listening  to  the  voice  of  God; 
but  these  are  old  and  worn  with  journeying — men  and 
women  who  have  outlived  passions  and  ambitions  and  the 
fire  heats  of  love,  and  who  now,  girt  about  with  memo- 
ries, stand  face  to  face  with  the  sphinx  Eternity. 

But  John  Niel  was  no  chicken,  nor  very  likely  to  fall  in 
love  with  the  first  pretty  face  he  met.  He  had  once, 
years  ago,  gone  through  that  melancholy  stage,  and  there, 
he  thought,  was  an  end  of  it.  Another  thing  was  that  if 
Bessie  attracted  him,  so  did  Jess  in  a  different  way.  Be- 
fore he  had  been  a  week  in  the  house  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Jess  was  the  strangest  woman  he  had 
ever  met,  and  in  her  own  way  one  of  the  most  attractive. 
Her  very  impassiveness  added  to  her  charm;  for  who  is 
there  in  this  world  who  does  not  like  to  learn  a  secret? 
To  him  Jess  was  a  riddle  of  which  he  did  not  know  the 
key.  That  she  was  clever  and  well-informed  he  soon  dis- 
covered from  her  rare  remarks;  that  she  could  sing  like 
an  angel  he  also  knew;  but  what  was  the  mainspring  of 
her  mind — round  what  axis  did  it  revolve — that  was  what 
puzzled  him.  Clearly  enough  it  was  not  like  most  wom- 
en's, least  of  all  like  happy,  healthy,  plain-sailing  Bessie's. 
So  curious  did  he  become  to  fathom  these  mysteries  that 
he  took  every  opportunity  to  associate  with  her,  and 
would  even,  when  he  had  time,  go  out  with  her  on  her 


32  JESS. 

sketching,  or  rather  flower  -  painting,  expeditions.  On 
these  occasions  she  would  sometimes  begin  to  talk,  but  it 
was  always  about  books,  or  England,  or  some  intellectual 
question.  She  never  spoke  of  herself. 

Yet  it  soon  became  evident  to  John  that  she  liked  his 
society,  and  missed  him  when  he  did  not  come.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  what  a  boon  it  was  to  a  girl  of  consider- 
able intellectual  attainments,  and  still  greater  intellectual 
capacities  and  aspirations,  to  be  thrown  for  the  first  time 
into  the  society  of  a  cultivated  and  intelligent  gentleman. 
John  Niel  was  no  empty  -  headed,  one  -  sided  individual. 
He  had  both  read  and  thought,  and  even  written  a  little, 
and  in  him  Jess  found  a  mind  which,  though  of  an  infe- 
rior stamp,  was  more  or  less  kindred  to  her  own.  Al- 
though he  did  not  understand  her,  she  understood  him, 
and  at  last,  had  he  but  known  it,  there  rose  a  far  -  off 
dawning  light  upon  the  twilight  of  her  mind  that  thrilled 
and  changed  it  as  the  first  faint  rays  of  morning  thrill 
and  change  the  darkness  of  the  night.  What  if  she 
should  learn  to  love  this  man,  and  teach  him  to  love  her  ? 
To  most  women  such  a  thought  involves  more  or  less  the 
idea  of  marriage,  and  that  change  of  status  which  they 
generally  consider  so  desirable.  But  Jess  did  not  think 
much  of  that:  what  she  did  think  of  was  the  blessed  possi- 
bility of  being  able  to  lay  down  her  life,  as  it  were,  in  the 
life  of  another — of  finding  at  last  somebody  who  under- 
stood her  and  wrhom  she  could  understand,  who  would  cut 
the  shackles  that  bound  down  the  wings  of  her  genius, 
so  that  she  could  rise  and  bear  him  with  her  as,  in  Bulwer 
Lytton's  beautiful  story,  Zoe  would  have  borne  her  lover. 
Here  at  last  was  a  man  who  understood,  who  was  something 
more  than  an  animal,  and  who  possessed  the  godlike  gift 
of  brains,  the  gift  that  had  been  more  of  a  curse  than  a 
blessing  to  her,  lifting  her  above  the  level  of  her  sex  and 
shutting  her  off  as  by  iron  doors  from  the  understanding 
of  those  around  her.  Ah !  if  only  this  perfect  love  of 


JESS.  33 

which  she  had  read  so  much  would  come  to  him  and  her, 
life  might  perhaps  grow  worth  the  living. 

It  is  a  curious  thing,  but  in  such  matters  most  men 
never  learn  wisdom  from  experience.  A  man  of  John 
Niel's  age  might  have  guessed  that  it  is  dangerous  work 
playing  with  explosives,  and  that  the  quietest,  most  harm- 
less-looking substances  are  sometimes  the  most  explosive. 
He  might  have  known  that  to  set  to  work  to  cultivate  the 
society  of  a  woman  with  such  telltale  eyes  as  Jess's  was  to 
run  the  risk  of  catching  the  fire  from  them  himself,  to  say 
nothing  of  setting  her  alight;  he  might  have  known  that 
to  bring  all  the  weight  of  his  cultivated  mind  to  bear  on 
her  mind,  to  take  the  deepest  interest  in  her  studies,  to 
implore  her  to  let  him  see  the  poetry  Bessie  told  him  she 
wrote,  but  which  she  would  show  to  no  living  soul,  and  to 
evince  the  most  evident  delight  in  her  singing,  were  one 
and  all  dangerous  things  to  do;  and  yet  he  did  them  and 
thought  no  harm. 

As  for  Bessie,  she  was  delighted  that  her  sister  should 
have  found  anybody  whom  she  cared  to  talk  to  or  who 
could  understand  her.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  Jess 
might  fall  in  love.  Jess  was  the  last  person  in  the  world 
to  fall  in  love.  Nor  did  she  calculate  what  the  results 
might  be  to  John.  As  yet,  at  any  rate,  she  had  no  in- 
terest in  Captain  Niel — of  course  not. 

And  so  things  went  on  pleasantly  enough  to  all  con- 
cerned in  this  drama  till  one  fine  day,  when  the  storm- 
clouds  began  to  gather.  John  had  been  about  the  farm 
as  usual  till  dinner-time,  after  which  he  took  his  gun  and 
told  Jantje  to  saddle  up  his  shooting  -  pony.  He  was 
standing  on  the  veranda,  waiting  for  the  pony  to  appear, 
and  by  him  was  Bessie,  looking  particularly  attractive  in 
a  white  dress,  when  suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  Frank 
Muller's  great  black  horse,  and  that  gentleman  himself 
upon  it,  cantering  up  the  avenue  of  blue-gums. 

"  Hullo,  Miss  Bessie,"  he  said,  "  here  comes  your  friend." 
3 


34  JESS. 

"  Bother  !"  said  Bessie,  stamping  her  foot,  and  then, 
with  a  quick  look,  "  Why  do  you  call  him  my  friend  ?" 

"  I  imagine  that  he  considers  himself  so,  to  judge  from  the 
number  of  times  a  week  he  com.es  to  see  you,"  he  answered, 
with  a  shrug.  "  At  any  rate,  he  isn't  mine,  so  I  am  off 
shooting.  Good-bye.  I  hope  that  you  will  enjoy  yourself." 

"  You  are  not  kind,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  turn- 
ing her  back  on  him. 

In  another  moment  he  was  gone,  and  Frank  Muller  had 
arrived. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Bessie  ?"  he  said,  jumping  from 
his  horse  with  the  rapidity  of  a  man  who  had  been  ac- 
customed to  rough  riding  all  his  life.  "Where  is  the 
'  rooibaat je  '  off  to  ?" 

"  Captain  Niel  is  going  out  shooting,"  she  said,  coldly. 

"  Ah,  so  much  the  better  for  you  and  me,  Miss  Bessie ! 
We  can  have  a  pleasant  talk.  Where  is  that  black  mon- 
key, Jantje  ?  Here,  Jantje,  take  my  horse,  you  ugly  devil, 
and  mind  you  look  after  him,  or  I'll  cut  the  liver  out  of 
you !" 

Jantje  took  the  horse,  with  a  forced  grin  of  apprecia- 
tion at  the  joke,  and  led  him  off  round  the  house. 

"  I  don't  think  that  Jantje  likes  you,  Meinheer  Muller," 
said  Bessie,  spitefully,  "  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it  if  you 
talk  to  him  like  that.  He  told  me  the  other  day  that  he 
had  known  you  for  twenty  years,"  and  she  looked  at  him 
inquiringly. 

This  casual  remark  produced  a  remarkable  effect  on  her 
visitor,  who  turned  color  beneath  his  tanned  skin. 

"  He  lies,  the  black  hound,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  put  a 
bullet  through  him  if  he  says  it  again!  What  should  I 
know  about  him,  or  he  about  me?  Can  I  keep  count  of 
every  miserable  man-monkey  I  meet  ?"  and  he  muttered  a 
string  of  Dutch  oaths  into  his  long  beard. 

"  Really,  meinheer  !"  said  Bessie. 

"  Why  do  you  always  call  me  '  meinheer '  ?"  he  asked, 


JESS.  35 

turning  so  fiercely  on  her  that  she  started  back  a  step. 
"  I  tell  you  I  am  not  a  Boer.  I  am  an  Englishman.  My 
mother  was  English;  and  besides,  thanks  to  Lord  Carnar- 
von, we  are  all  English  now." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  mind  being  thought  a 
Boer,"  she  said,  coolly;  "there  are  some  very  good  peo- 
ple among  the  Boers,  and,  besides,  you  used  to  be  a  great 
'patriot.'" 

"  Used  to  be — yes;  and  so  the  trees  used  to  bend  to  the 
north  when  the  wind  blew  that  way,  but  now  they  bend 
to  the  south,  for  the  wind  has  turned.  By  and  by  it  may 
set  to  the  north  again — that  is  another  matter — then  we 
shall  see." 

Bessie  made  no  answer,  beyond  pursing  up  her  pretty 
mouth  and  slowly  picking  a  leaf  from  the  vine  that  trailed 
overhead. 

The  big  Dutchman  took  off  his  hat  and  stroked  his 
beard  perplexedly.  Evidently  he  was  meditating  some- 
thing that  he  was  afraid  to  say.  Twice  he  fixed  his  cold 
eyes  on  Bessie's  fair  face,  artd  twice  looked  down  again. 
The  second  time  she  took  alarm. 

"  Excuse  me  one  minute,"  she  said,  and  made  as  though 
to  enter  the  house. 

"  Wacht  een  beeche  "  (wait  a  bit),  he  ejaculated,  break- 
ing into  Dutch  in  his  agitation,  and  even  catching  hold  of 
her  white  dress  with  his  big  hand. 

She  drew  the  dress  from  him  with  a  quick  twist  of  her 
lithe  form,  and  turned  and  faced  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  could  not  be 
called  encouraging;  "  you  were  going  to  say  something." 

"Yes — ah,  that  is  —  I  was  going  to  say  — "  and  he 
paused. 

Bessie  stood  with  a  polite  look  of  expectation  on  her 
face,  and  waited. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  —  that,  in  short,  that  I  want  to 
marry  you  !" 


36  JESS. 

"  Oh!"  said  Bessie,  with  a  start. 

"Listen,"  he  went  on,  hoarsely,  his  words  gathering 
force  as  he  proceeded,  as  is  the  way  even  with  uncultured 
people  when  they  speak  from  the  heart.  "  Listen  !  I  love 
you,  Bessie;  I  have  loved  you  for  three  years.  Every 
time  I  have  seen  you  I  have  loved  you  more.  Don't  say 
me  nay — you  don't  know  how  I  love  you.  I  dream  of 
you  every  night;  sometimes  I  dream  that  I  hear  your 
dress  rustling,  and  then  you  come  and  kiss  me,  and  it  is 
like  being  in  heaven." 

Here  Bessie  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"There,  I  have  offended  you,  but  don't  be  angry  with 
me.  I  am  very  rich,  Bessie;  there  is  the  place  here,  and 
then  I  have  four  farms  in  Lydenburg  and  ten  thousand 
morgen  up  in  Waterberg,  and  a  thousand  head  of  cattle, 
besides  sheep  and  horses  and  money  in  the  bank.  You 
shall  have  everything  your  own  way,"  he  went  on,  seeing 
that  the  inventory  of  his  goods  did  not  appear  to  impress 
her — "everything  —  the  house  shall  be  English  fash- 
ion; I  will  build  a  new  sit-kame  (sitting-room),  and  it 
shall  be  furnished  from  Natal.  There,  I  love  you,  I  say. 
You  won't  say  no,  will  you  ?"  and  he  caught  her  by  the 
hand. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Muller,"  answered 
Bessie,  snatching  away  her  hand;  "but — in  short,  I  cannot 
marry  you.  No,  it  is  no  use,  I  cannot,  indeed.  There, 
please  say  no  more,  here  comes  my  uncle.  Forget  all 
about  it,  Mr.  Muller." 

Her  suitor  looked  up  ;  there  was  old  Silas  Croft  com- 
ing, sure  enough,  but  he  was  some  way  off  and  walking 
slowly. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?"  he  said,  beneath  his  breath. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course  I  mean  it.  Why  do  you  force  me 
to  repeat  it  ?" 

"It  is  that  d d  rooibaatje,"  he  broke  out.  "You 

used  not  to  be  like  this  before.  Curse  him,  the  white-liv- 


JESS.  37 

ered  Englishman  !  I  will  be  even  with  him  yet  ;  and  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Bessie  ;  you  shall  marry  me,  whether 
you  like  it  or  no.  Look  here,  do  you  think  I  am  the  sort 
of  man  to  play  with  ?  You  go  to  Wakkerstroom  and  aek 
what  sort  of  a  man  Frank  Muller  is.  See,  I  want  yon — I 
must  have  you.  I  could  not  live  if  I  thought  that  I  should 
never  get  you  for  myself.  And  I  tell  you  I  will  do  it.  I 
don't  care  if  it  costs  me  my  life,  and  your  rooibaatje's  too. 
I'll  do  it  if  I  have  to  stir  up  a  revolt  against  the  govern- 
ment. There,  I  swear  it  by  God  or  by  the  Devil,  it's  all 
one  to  me  !"  And  growing  inarticulate  with  passion,  he 
stood  there  before  her  clinching  and  unclinching  his  great 
hand,  and  his  lips  trembling. 

Bessie  was  very  frightened;  but  she  was  a  brave  woman, 
and  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"  If  you  go  on  talking  like  that,"  she  said, "  I  shall  call 
my  uncle.  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not  marry  you,  Frank 
Muller,  and  that  nothing  shall  ever  make  me  marry  you. 
I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  but  I  have  not  encouraged  you, 
and  I  will  never  many  you — never  !" 

He  stood  for  half  a  minute  or  so  looking  at  her,  and 
then  burst  into  a  savage  laugh. 

"  I  think  that  some  day  or  other  I  shall  find  a  way  to 
make  you,"  he  said,  and, turning, went  without  another  word. 

A  couple  of  minutes  later  Bessie  heard  the  sound  of  a 
horse  galloping,  and  looking  up  saw  her  wooer's  powerful 
form  vanishing  down  the  vista  of  blue-gums.  Also  she 
heard  somebody  crying  out  as  though  in  pain  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  and,  more  to  relieve  her  mind  than  anything 
else,  went  to  see  what  it  was.  By  the  stable  door  she 
found  the  Hottentot  Jantje,  twisting  round  and  round  and 
shrieking  and  cursing,  holding  his  hand  to  his  side,  from 
which  the  blood  was  running. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Baas  Frank  !"  he  said  —  "  Baas  Frank  hit  me  with  his 
whip  !" 


38  JESS. 

"The  brute!"  said  Bessie,  the  tears  starting  into  her 
eyes  with  anger. 

"Never  mind,  missie,  never  mind,"  said  the  Hottentot, 
his  ugly  face  growing  livid  with  fury,  "  it  is  only  one  more 
to  me.  I  cut  it  on  this  stick" — and  he  held  up  a  long, 
thick  stick  he  carried,  on  which  were  several  notches,  start- 
ing from  three  deep  ones  at  the  top  just  below  the  knob. 
"  Let  him  look  out  sharp  —  let  him  search  the  grass  —  let 
him  creep  round  the  bush  —  let  him  look  as  he  will,  one 
day  he  will  find  Jantje,  and  Jantje  will  find  him  !" 

"Why  did  Frank  Muller  gallop  away  like  that?" 
asked  her  uncle  of  Bessie  when  she  got  back  to  the  ve- 
randa. 

"We  had  some  words,"  she  answered,  shortly,  not  see- 
ing the  use  of  explaining  matters  to  the  old  man. 

"  Ah,  indeed,  indeed.  Well,  be  careful,  my  love.  It's 
ill  to  quarrel  with  a  man  like  Frank  Muller.  I've  known 
him  for  many  years,  and  he  has  a  black  heart  when  he  is 
crossed.  You  see,  my  love,  you  can  deal  with  a  Boer  and 
you  can  deal  with  an  Englishman,  but  cross-bred  dogs  are 
bad  to  handle.  Take  my  advice,  and  make  it  up  with 
Frank  Muller." 

All  of  which  sage  advice  did  not  tend  to  raise  Bessie's 
spirits,  which  were  already  sufficiently  low. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DREAMS    ARE    FOOLISHNESS. 

WHEN  John  Niel  left  Bessie  on  the  veranda  at  the  ap- 
proach of  Frank  Muller  he  had  taken  his  gun,  and,  having 
whistled  to  the  pointer  dog  Pontac,  mounted  his  shooting- 
pony  and  stalled  out  in  quest  of  partridges.  On  the  warm 
slopes  of  the  hills  round  Wakkerstroom  a  large  species  of 
partridge  is  very  abundant,  especially  in  the  patches  of  red 
grass  in  which  they  are  sometimes  clothed.  It  is  a  merry 
sound  to  hear  these  partridges  calling  from  all  directions 
just  after  daybreak,  and  one  to  make  the  heart  of  every 
true  sportsman  rejoice  exceedingly.  On  leaving  the  house 
John  proceeded  up  the  side  of  the  hill  behind  it — his  pony 
picking  its  way  carefully  between  the  stones,  and  the  dog 
Pontac  ranging  about  two  or  three  hundred  yards  off,  for 
in  this  sort  of  country  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  dog  with  a 
wide  range.  Presently  John  saw  him  stop  under  a  mimosa 
thorn  and  suddenly  stiffen  out  as  if  he  had  been  petrified, 
and  made  the  best  of  his  way  towards  him.  Pontac  stood 
still  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  slowly  and  deliberately 
veered  his  head  round,  as  though  it  worked  on  a  hinge,  to 
see  if  his  master  were  coming.  John  knew  his  ways. 
Three  times  would  that  remarkable  old  dog  look  round 
thus,  and  if  the  gun  had  not  then  arrived  he  would  to  a 
certainty  run  in  and  flush  the  birds.  This  was  a  rule  that 
he  never  broke,  for  his  patience  had  a  fixed  limit.  On 
this  occasion,  however,  John  arrived  before  it  was  reached, 
and,  jumping  off  his  pony,  cocked  his  gun  and  marched 
slowly  up,  full  of  happy  expectation.  On  drew  the  dog, 


40  JESS. 

his  eye  cold  and  fixed,  saliva  dropping  from  his  mouth, 
and  his  head  and  face,  on  which  was  frozen  an  extraor- 
dinary expression  of  instinctive  ferocity,  outstretched  to 
their  utmost  limit. 

He  was  right  under  the  mimosa  thorn  now,  and  up  to  his 
belly  in  the  warm,  red  grass.  Where  could  the  birds  be  ? 
Whirr!  and  a  great  feathered  shell  seemed  to  have  burst 
at  his  very  feet.  What  a  covey  !  twelve  brace  if  there 
was  a  bird,  and  they  had  all  been  lying  beak  to  beak  in  a 
space  no  bigger  than  a  cartwheel.  Up  went  John's  gun 
and  off  too,  a  little  sooner  than  it  should  have  done. 

"  Missed  him  clean  !  Now  then  for  the  left  barrel." 
Same  result.  There,  we  will  draw  a  veil  over  the  profanity 
that  ensued.  A  minute  later  and  it  was  all  over,  and  John 
and  Pontac  were  regarding  each  other  with  contempt  and 
disgust. 

"  It  was  all  you,  you  brute,"  said  John  to  Pontac.  "  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  run  in,  and  you  hurried  me." 

"  Ugh  !"  said  Pontac  to  John,  or,  at  least,  he  looked  it. 
"  Ugh !  you  disgusting  bad  shot.  WThat  is  the  good  of 
pointing  for  you  ?  It's  enough  to  make  a  dog  sick." 

The  covey — or  rather  the  collection  of  old  birds,  for  this 
kind  of  partridge  sometimes  "packs"  just  before  the 
breeding  season — had  scattered  all  about  the  place,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  Pontac  found  some  of  them  ;  and  this 
time  John  got  one  bird  —  and  a  beautiful  great  partridge 
he  was  too,  with  yellow  legs — and  missed  another.  Again 
Pontac  pointed,  and  a  brace  rose.  Bang  !  down  goes  one  ; 
bang  !  with  the  other  barrel.  Caught  him,  by  Jove,  just 
as  he  topped  the  stone.  Hullo !  Pontac  is  still  on  the 
point.  Slip  in  two  more  cartridges.  Oh,  a  leash  this  time  ! 
bang  !  bang  !  and  down  come  a  brace  of  them — two  brace 
of  partridge  without  moving  a  yard. 

Life  has  joys  for  all  men,  but  it  has,  I  verily  believe,  no 
joy  to  compare  to  the  joy  of  the  moderate  shot  and  earnest 
sportsman  when  he  has  just  killed  half  a  dozen  driven 


JESS.  41 

partridges  without  a  miss,  or  ten  rocketing  pheasants  with 
eleven  cartridges,  or,  better  still,  a  couple  of  woodcock 
right  and  left.  Sweet  to  the  politician  are  the  cheers  to 
announce  the  triumph  of  his  cause  and  of  himself  ;  sweet 
to  the  desponding  writer  is  the  unexpected  public  recogni- 
tion in  the  Saturday  Review  of  talents  with  which  nobody 
had  previously  been  much  impressed ;  sweet  to  all  men  is 
the  light  of  women's  eyes  and  the  touch  of  women's  lips. 
But  though  he  have  experienced  all  these  things,  to  the 
true  sportsman  and  the  moderate  shot,  sweeter  far  is  it  to 
see  the  arched  wings  of  the  driven  bird,  bent  like  Cupid's 
bow,  come  flashing  fast  towards  him,  to  feel  the  touch  of 
the  stock  as  it  fits  itself  against  the  shoulder,  and  the  kind- 
ly give  of  the  .trigger,  and  then,  oh,  thrilling  sight !  to 
perceive  the  wonderful  and  yet  awful  change  from  life  to 
death,  the  puff  of  feathers,  and  the  hurtling  passage  of  the 
dull  mass  borne  onward  by  its  own  force  to  fall  twenty 
yards  from  where  the  shot  struck  it.  Next  session  the 
politician  will  be  hooted  down ;  next  year,  perhaps,  the 
Saturday  Review  will  cut  the  happy  writer  to  ribbons  and 
decorate  its  columns  with  his  fragments;  next  week  you 
will  have  wearied  of  those  sweet  smiles,  or,  more  likely 
still,  they  will  be  bestowed  elsewhere.  Vanity  of  vani- 
ties, my  son,  each  and  all  of  them  !  But  if  you  are  a  true 
sportsman  (yes,  even  though  you  be  but  a  moderate  shot), 
it  will  always  be  a  glorious  thing  to  go  out  shooting,  and 
when  you  chance  to  shoot  well  earth  holds  no  such  joy  as 
that  which  shall  glow  in  your  honest  breast  (for  all  sports- 
men are  honest),  and  it  remains  to  be  proved  if  Heaven 
does  either.  It  is  a  grand  sport,  though  the  pity  of  it  is 
that  it  should  be  such  a  cruel  one. 

Such  was  the  paean  that  John  sang  in  his  heart  as  he 
contemplated  those  fine  partridges  before  lovingly  trans- 
ferring them  to  his  bag.  But  his  luck  to-day  was  not 
destined  to  stop  at  partridges,  for  hardly  had  he  ridden 
over  the  edge  of  the  bowlder-strewn  side,  and  on  to  the 


42  JESS. 

flat  table-top  of  the  hill,  which  consisted  of  some  five  hun- 
dred acres  of  land,  before  he  perceived,  emerging  from  the 
shelter  of  a  tuft  of  grass  about  a  hundred  and  seventy 
yards  away,  nothing  less  than  the  tall  neck  and  whiskered 
head  of  a  large  "  pauw,"  or  bustard. 

Now  it  is  quite  useless  to  try  to  ride  straight  up  to  a 
bustard,  and  this  he  knew.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  ex- 
cite his  curiosity  and  fix  his  attention  by  moving  round 
and  round  him  in  an  ever-narrowing  circle.  Putting  his 
pony  to  a  canter,  John  proceeded  to  do  this  with  a  heart 
beating  with  excitement.  Round  and  round  he  went ;  the 
"pauw"  had  vanished  now;  he  was  squatting  in  the  tuft 
of  grass.  The  last  circle  brought  him  to  within  seventy 
yards,  and  he  did  not  dare  risk  it  any  more,  so  jumping 
off  his  pony  he  ran  in  towards  the  bird  as  hard  as  ever  he 
could  go.  Before  he  had  covered  ten  yards  the  "  pauw  " 
was  rising,  but  they  are  heavy  birds,  and  he  was  within 
forty  yards  before  it  was  fairly  on  the  wing.  Then  he 
pulled  up  and  fired  both  barrels  of  No.  4  into  it.  Down  it 
came,  and,  incautious  man,  he  rushed  forward  in  triumph 
without  reloading  his  gun.  Already  was  his  hand  out- 
stretched to  seize  the  prize,  when,  behold  !  the  great  wings 
stretched  themselves  out  and  the  bird  was  flying  away. 
John  stood  dancing  upon  the  veldt,  but  observing  that  it 
settled  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  ran  back,  mounted 
his  pony,  and  pursued  it.  When  he  got  near  it  it  rose 
again,  and  flew  this  time  a  hundred  yards  only,  and  so  it 
went  on  till  at  last  he  got  within  gunshot  of  the  king  of 
birds  and  killed  it. 

By  this  time  he  was  right  across  the  mountain-top,  and 
on  the  brink  of  the  most  remarkable  chasm  he  had  ever 
seen.  The  place  was  known  as  Lion's  Kloof,  or  Leuw 
Kloof  in  Dutch,  because  three  lions  had  once  been  penned 
up  by  a  party  of  Boers  and  shot  there.  The  chasm  or 
gorge  was  between  a  quarter  and  half  a  mile  long,  about 
six  hundred  feet  in  width,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  to  a 


JESS.  43 

hundred  and  eighty  feet  deep.  It  evidently  owed  its  ori- 
gin to  the  action  of  running  water,  for  at  its  head,  just  to 
the  right  of  where  John  Niel  stood,  a  little  stream  welling 
from  hidden  springs  in  the  flat  mountain-top  trickled  from 
strata  to  strata,  forming  a  series  of  crystal  pools  and  tiny 
waterfalls,  till  at  last  it  reached  the  bottom  of  the  mighty 
gorge,  and  pursued  its  way,  half  hidden  by  the  umbrella- 
topped  mimosa  and  other  thorns  that  were  scattered  about, 
through  it  to  the  plains  beyond.  Evidently  this  little 
stream  was  the  parent  of  the  gulf  it  flowed  down  and 
through,  but  how  many  centuries  of  patient,  never-ceasing 
flow,  wondered  John  Niel,  must  have  been  necessary  to  the 
vast  result  before  him  ?  First  centuries  of  saturation  of  the 
soil  piled  on  and  between  the  bed  rocks  that  lay  beneath 
it  and  jutted  up  through  it,  then  centuries  of  floods  caused 
by  rain  and  perhaps  by  melting  snows,  to  wash  away  the 
loosened  mould  ;  then*  centuries  upon  centuries  more  of 
flowing  and  of  rainfalls  to  wash  the  debris  clean  and  com- 
plete the  colossal  work. 

I  say  the  rocks  that  jutted  up  through  the  soil,  for  the 
gulf  was  not  clean  cut.  All  along  its  sides,  and  here  and 
there  in  its  arena,  stood  up  mighty  columns  or  fingers  of 
rock,  not  solid  columns,  but  columns  formed  by  huge 
bowlders  piled  mason  fashion  one  upon  another,  as  though 
the  Titans  of  some  dead  age  had  employed  themselves  in 
building  them  up,  overcoming  their  tendency  to  fall  by  the 
mere  crushing  weight  above,  that  kept  them  steady  even 
when  the  wild  breath  of  the  storms  came  howling  down 
the  gorge  and  tried  its  strength  against  them.  About  a 
hundred  paces  from  the  near  end  of  the  gorge,  some  ninety 
or  more  feet  in  height,  stood  the  most  remarkable  of  these 
mighty  pillars,  to  which  the  remains  at  Stoneheuge  are  but 
toys.  It  was  formed  of  seven  huge  bowlders,  the  largest, 
that  at  the  bottom,  about  the  size  of  a  moderate  cottage, 
and  the  smallest,  that  at  the  top,  perhaps  some  eight  or 
ten  feet  in  diameter.  These  bowlders  were  rounded  like  a 


44  JESS. 

cricket-ball — evidently  through  the  action  of  water — and 
yet  the  hand  of  Nature  had  contrived  to  balance  them, 
each  one  smaller  than  that  beneath,  the  one  upon  the  other, 
and  to  keep  them  so.  But  this  was  not  always  the  case. 
For  instance,  a  very  similar  mass  that  had  risen  on  the  near 
side  of  the  perfect  pillar  had  fallen,  all  except  the  two  bot- 
tom stones,  and  the  bowlders  that  went  to  form  it  lay  scat- 
tered about  like  monstrous  petrified  cannon-balls.  One  of 
these  had  split  in  two,  and  seated  on  it  John  discovered 
none  other  than  Jess  Croft,  apparently  engaged  in  sketch- 
ing, looking  very  small  and  far  off  at  the  bottom  of  that 
vast  chasm. 

John  got  off  his  shooting-pony,  and  looking  about  him 
perceived  that  it  was  possible  to  descend  by  following  the 
course  of  the  stream  and  clambering  down  the  natural 
steps  it  had  cut  in  the  rocky  bed.  Throwing  the  reins 
over  the  pony's  head,  and  leaving  him  with  the  dog  Pontac 
to  stand  and  look  about  him  as  South  African  shooting- 
ponies  are  accustomed  to  do,  he  put  down  his  gun  and 
game  and  proceeded  to  descend,  pausing  every  now  and 
again  to  admire  the  wild  beauty  of  the  scene  and  look  at 
the  hundred  varieties  of  moss  and  ferns,  the  last  mostly  of 
the  maiden-hair  (capilla  veneris)  genus,  that  clothed  every 
cranny  and  every  rock  where  they  could  find  roothold  and 
get  refreshment  from  the  water  or  the  spray  of  the  cas- 
cades. As  he  drew  near  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  he  saw 
that  near  the  borders  of  the  stream,  wherever  the  soil  was 
moist,  grew  thousands  upon  thousands  of  white  arum  lilies, 
"  pig  lilies  "  they  call  them  there,  just  now  in  full  bloom. 
He  had  noticed  these  lilies  from  above,  but  there  they  had, 
owing  to  the  distance,  looked  so  small  that  he  had  taken 
them  for  everlastings  or  anemones.  He  could  not  see  Jess 
now,  for  she  was  hidden  by  a  bush  that  grows  by  the  banks 
of  the  streams  in  South  Africa  in  low-lying  land,  and  which 
at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  is  literally  covered  with 
masses  of  the  most  gorgeous  scarlet  bloom.  His  footsteps 


JESS.  45 

fell  very  softly  on  the  moss  and  flowers,  and  when  he  got 
round  the  glorious  -  looking  bush  it  was  evident  that  she 
had  not  heard  him,  for  she  was  asleep.  Her  hat  was  off, 
but  the  bush  shaded  her,  and  her  head  had  fallen  forward 
over  her  sketching-block  and  rested  on  her  hand.  A  ray 
of  light  that  came  through  the  bush  played  upon  her  curl- 
ing brown  hair  and  threw  warm  shadows  on  her  white  face 
and  the  white  wrist  and  hand  on  which  it  rested. 

John  stood  opposite  to  her  and  looked  at  her,  and  the 
old  curiosity  to  understand  this  feminine  enigma  took  pos- 
session of  him.  Many  a  man  before  him  has  been  the 
victim  of  a  like  desire,  and  lived  to  regret  that  he  did  not 
leave  it  ungratified.  It  is  not  well  to  try  and  lift  the  cur- 
tain of  the  unseen;  it  is  not  well  to  call  to  heaven  to  show 
its  glory,  or  to  hell  to  give  us  touch  and  knowledge  of  its 
yawning  fires.  Knowledge  comes  soon  enough  ;  many  of 
us  will  say  that  knowledge  has  come  too  soon  and  left  us 
desolate.  There  is  no  bitterness  like  the  bitterness  of  wis- 
dom ;  so  cried  the  great  Koholeth,  and  so  hath  cried  many 
a  son  of  man  following  blindly  in  his  path.  Let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  dark  places  of  the  earth  —  places  where 
we  may  find  rest  and  shadow,  and  the  heavy  sweetness  of 
the  night.  Seek  not  after  mysteries,  O  son  of  man ;  be  con- 
tent with  the  practical  and  the  proved  and  the  broad  light 
of  the  day  ;  peep  not,  mutter  not  the  words  of  awakening. 
Understand  her  who  would  be  understood  and  is  compre- 
hensible to  those  who  run,  and  for  the  others  let  them  be, 
lest  your  fate  should  be  as  the  fate  of  Eve,  and  as  the  fate 
of  Lucifer,  star  of  the  morning.  For  here  and  there  there 
is  a  human  heart  from  which  it  is  not  wise  to  draw  the 
veil — a  heart  in  which  many  things  slumber  as  undreamed 
dreams  in  the  brain  of  the  sleeper.  Draw  not  the  veil, 
whisper  not  the  word  of  life  in  the  silence  where  all  things 
sleep,  lest  in  that  kindling  breath  of  love  and  pain  dim 
shapes  arise,  take  form,  and  fright  thee. 

A  minute  or  so  might  have  passed  when  suddenly,  and 


46  JESS. 

with  a  little  start,  Jess  opened  her  great  eyes,  on  which  the 
shadow  of  darkness  lay,  and  gazed  at  him. 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  with  a  little  tremor,  "  is  it  you  or  is  it 
my  dream?" 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  answered,  cheerily,  "  it  is  I — in  the 
flesh." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and 
then  withdrew  it,  and  he  noticed  that  her  eyes  had  changed 
curiously  in  that  moment.  They  were  still  large  and  beau- 
tiful as  they  always  were,  but  there  was  a  change.  Just 
now  they  had  seemed  as  though  her  soul  were  looking 
through  them.  Doubtless  it  was  because  the  pupils  were 
enlarged  by  sleep. 

"  Your  dream  !     What  dream  ?"  he  asked,  laughing. 

"Never  mind,"  she  answered,  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way  that 
excited  his  curiosity  more  than  ever  ;  "  dreams  are  fool- 
ishness." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    STORM     BREAKS. 

"  Do  you  know  you  are  a  very  odd  person,  Miss  Jess," 
John  said,  presently,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  don't  think 
you  can  have  a  happy  mind." 

She  looked  up.  "  A  happy  mind  ?"  she  said.  "  Who 
can  have  a  happy  mind  ?  Nobody  who  can  feel.  Suppos- 
ing," she  went  on  after  a  pause — "supposing  one  puts 
one's  self  and  one's  own  little  interests  and  joys  and  sorrows 
quite  away,  how  is  it  possible  to  be  happy,  when  one  feels 
the  breath  of  human  misery  beating  on  one's  face,  and  sees 
the  great  tide  of  sorrow  and  suffering  creeping  up  to  one's 
feet  ?  One  may  be  on  a  rock  one's  self  and  out  of  the  path 
of  it,  till  the  spring  floods  or  the  hurricane  wave  comes  to 
sweep  one  away,  or  one  may  be  afloat  upon  it ;  whichever 
it  is,  it  is  quite  impossible,  if  one  has  any  heart,  to  be  in- 
different to  it." 

"  Then  only  the  indifferent  are  happy  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  indifferent  and  the  selfish  ;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
the  same  thing  ;  indifference  is  the  perfection  of  selfish- 
ness." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  there  must  be  lots  of  elfishness  irt 
the  world,  for  there  is  certainly  plenty  of  happiness,  all 
evil  things  notwithstanding.  I  should  have  said  that 
happiness  comes  from  goodness  and  from  a  sound  diges- 
tion." 

Jess  shook  her  head  as  she  answered,  "  I  may  be  wrong, 
but  I  don't  see  how  anybody  who  feels  can  be  quite  happy 
in  a  world  of  sickness,  suffering,  slaughter,  and  death.  I 


48  JESS. 

saw  a  Kaffir  woman  die  yesterday,  and  her  children  crying 
over  her.  She  was  a  poor  creature  and  had  a  rough  lot, 
but  she  loved  her  life,  and  her  children  loved  her.  Who 
can  be  happy  and  thank  God  for  his  creation  when  he  has 
just  seen  such  a  thing  ?  But  there,  Captain  Niel,  my  ideas 
are  very  crude,  and  I  dare  say  very  wrong,  and  everybody 
has  thought  them  before  ;  at  any  rate,  I  am  not  going  to 
inflict  them  on  you.  What  is  the  use  of  it  ?"  she  went  on 
with  a  laugh  :  "  what  is  the  use  of  anything  ?  The  same 
old  thoughts  passing  through  the  same  human  minds  from 
year  to  year  and  century  to  century,  just  as  the  same  clouds 
float  across  the  same  blue  sky.  The  clouds  are  born  in  the 
sky,  and  the  thoughts  are  born  in  the  brain,  and  they  both 
end  in  tears  and  re-arise  in  blinding,  bewildering  mist,  and 
this  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  thoughts  and  clouds. 
They  arise  out  of  the  blue  ;  they  overshadow  and  break 
into  storms  and  tears,  and  then  they  are  drawn  up  with 
the  blue  again,  and  the  whole  thing  begins  afresh." 

"  So  you  don't  think  that  one  can  be  happy  in  the 
world  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  did  not  say  that — I  never  said  that.  I  do  think  that 
happiness  is  possible.  It  is  possible  if  one  can  love  some- 
body so  hard  that  one  can  quite  forget  one's  self  and  every- 
thing else  except  that  person,  and  it  is  possible  if  one  can 
sacrifice  one's  self  for  others.  There  is  no  true  happiness 
outside  of  love  and  self-sacrifice,  or  rather  outside  of  love, 
for  it  includes  the  other.  That  is  gold,  all  the  rest  is  gilt." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  he  asked,  quickly.  "  You 
have  never  been  in  love." 

"  No,"  she  answered, "  I  have  never  been  in  love  like 
that,  but  all  the  happiness  I  have  had  in  my  life  has  come 
to  me  from  loving.  I  believe  that  love  is  the  secret  of  the 
world  ;  it  is  like  the  philosopher's  stone  they  used  to  look 
for,  and  almost  as  hard  to  find,  but  when  one  finds  it  it  turns 
everything  to  gold.  Perhaps,"  she  went  on  with  a  little 
laugh,  "  when  the  angels  left  the  earth  they  left  us  love 


JESS.  49 

behind,  that  by  it  and  through  it  we  may  climb  up  to  them 
again.  It  is  the  one  thing  that  lifts  us  above  the  brutes. 
Without  love  man  is  a  brute,  and  nothing  but  a  brute; 
with  love  he  draws  near  to  God.  When  everything  else 
falls  away  the  love  will  endure  because  it  cannot  die 
while  there  is  any  life,  if  it  is  true  love,  for  it  is  immortal. 
Only  it  must  be  true — you  see  it  must  be  true." 

He  had  got  through  her  reserve  now  ;  the  ice  of  her 
manner  broke  up  beneath  the  warmth  of  her  words,  and 
her  usually  impassive  face  had  caught  the  life  and  light 
from  the  eyes  above,  and  acquired  a  certain  beauty  of  its 
own.  He  looked  at  it,  and  realized  something  of  the  un- 
taught and  ill-regulated  intensity  and  depth  of  the  nature 
of  this  curious  girl.  He  caught  her  eyes  and  they  moved 
him  strangely,  though  he  was  not  an  emotional  man,  and 
was  too  old  to  experience  spasmodic  thrills  at  the  chance 
glances  of  a  pretty  woman.  He  went  towards  her,  look- 
ing at  her  curiously. 

"  It  would  be  worth  living  to  be  loved  like  that,"  he 
said,  more  to  himself  than  to  her. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  let  her  eyes  rest  on  his. 
Indeed,  she  did  more,  for  she  put  all  her  soul  into  them 
and  gazed  and  gazed  till  John  Niel  felt  as  though  he  were 
being  mesmerized.  And  as  she  did  so  there  rose  up  in  her 
breast  a  knowledge  that  if  she  willed  it  she  could  gain  this 
man's  heart  and  hold  it  against  all  the  world,  for  her  nature 
was  stronger  than  his  nature,  and  her  mind,  untrained  as  it 
was,  encompassed  his  mind  and  could  pass  over  it  and  beat 
it  down  as  the  wind  beats  down  a  tossing  sea.  All  this 
she  learned  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ;  she 
did  not  know  how  she  knew  it,  but  she  did  know  it  as  sure- 
ly as  she  knew  that  the  blue  sky  stretched  overhead,  and, 
what  is  more,  he — for  the  moment,  at  any  rate — knew  it 
too.  It  came  on  her  as  a  shock  and  a  revelation,  like  the 
tidings  of  a  great  joy  or  grief,  and  for  a  moment  left  her 
heart  empty  of  all  things  else. 
4 


50  JESS. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  suddenly. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  that  we  have  been  talk- 
ing a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  and  that  I  want  to  finish  my 
sketch."  s 

He  got  up  and  left  her,  for  he  had  to  get  home,  saying 
as  he  did  so  that  he  thought  there  was  a  storm  coming  up, 
the  air  was  so  quiet,  and  the  wind  had  fallen  as  it  does  be- 
fore an  African  tempest,  and  presently,  on  looking  round, 
she  saw  him  slowly  climbing  the  precipitous  ascent  to  the 
table-land  above. 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon,  such  as  one  sometimes  gets 
in  the  African  spring,  although  it  was  so  intensely  still. 
Everywhere  were  the  proofs  and  evidences  of  life.  The 
winter  was  over,  and  now,  from  the  sadness  and  sterility 
of  its  withered  age,  sprang  young  and  lovely  summer,  clad 
in  sunshine,  be-diamonded  with  dew,  and  fragrant  with  the 
breath  of  flowers.  Jess  lay  back  and  looked  up  into  the 
infinite  depths  above.  How  blue  they  were,  and  how 
measureless  !  She  could  not  see  the  angry  clouds  that  lay 
like  visible  omens  on  the  horizon.  See  there,  miles  above 
her,  was  one  tiny  circling  speck.  It  was  a  vulture,  watch- 
ing her  from  its  airy  heights  and  descending  a  little  to  see 
if  she  were  dead  or  only  sleeping. 

Involuntarily  she  shuddered.  The  bird  of  death  re- 
minded her  of  Death  himself  also  hanging  high  up  there 
in  the  blue  and  waiting  his  opportunity  to  fall  upon  the 
sleeper.  Then  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  bough  of  the  glorious 
flowering  bush  under  which  she  lay.  It  was  not  more 
than  four  feet  above  her  head,  but  she  was  so  still  and 
motionless  that  a  jewelled  honey  sucker  came  and  hovered 
over  the  flowers,  darting  from  one  to  another  like  a  many- 
colored  flash.  Thence  her  glance  travelled  to  the  great 
column  of  bowlders  that  towered  up  above  her  and  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  I  am  very  old.  I  have  seen  many  springs 
and  many  winters,  and  have  looked  down  on  many  sleep- 
ing maids,  and  where  are  they  now?  All  dead — all  dead," 


JESS.  51 

and  an  old  baboon  in  the  rocks  with  startling  suddenness 
barked  out  "  all  dead "  in  answer. 

Around  her  were  the  blooming  lilies  and  the  lustiness 
of  springing  life  ;  the  heavy  air  was  sweet  with  the  odor 
of  ferns  and  the  mimosa  flower.  The  running  water 
splashed  and  musically  fell ;  the  sunlight  lay  in  golden 
bars  athwart  the  shade,  like  the  memory  of  happy  days  in 
the  gray  vista  of  a  life  ;  away  in  the  cliffs  yonder,  the 
rock-doves  were  preparing  to  nest  by  hundreds,  and  wak- 
ing the  silence  with  their  cooing  and  the  flutter  of  their 
wings.  Even  the  grim  old  eagle  perched  on  the  pinnacle 
of  the  rock  was  pruning  himself,  contentedly  happy  in  the 
knowledge  that  his  mate  had  laid  an  egg  in  that  dark  cor- 
ner of  the  cliff.  Everything  rejoiced  and  cried  aloud  that 
summer  was  at  hand  and  that  it  was  time  to  bloom  and 
love  and  nest.  Soon  it  would  be  winter  again,  when  things 
died,  and  next  summer  other  things  would  live  under  the 
sun,  and  they  perchance  would  be  forgotten.  That  was 
what  they  seemed  to  say. 

And  as  she  lay  and  heard,  her  youthful  blood,  drawn  by 
Nature's  magnetic  force,  as  the  moon  draws  the  tide,  rose 
in  her  veins  like  the  sap  in  the  budding  trees,  and  stirred 
her  virginal  serenity.  All  the  bodily  natural  part  of  her 
caught  the  tones  of  Nature's  happy  voice  that  bade  her 
break  her  bands,  live  and  love,  and  be  a  woman.  And  lo! 
the  spirit  within  her  answered  to  it,  and  flung  wide  her 
bosom's  doors,  and  of  a  sudden,  as  it  were,  something 
quickened  and  lived  in  her  heart  that  was  of  her  and  yet 
had  its  own  life — a  life  apart ;  something  that  sprang  from 
her  and  another,  and  that  would  always  be  with  her  now 
and  could  never  die  ;  and  she  rose  pale  and  trembling,  as 
a  woman  trembles  at  the  first  stirring  of  the  child  that  she 
shall  bear,  and  clung  to  the  flowery  bough  of  the  beautiful 
bush  above  and  then  sank  down  again,  feeling  the  spirit  of 
her  girlhood  had  departed  from  her,  and  that  another  angel 
had  entered  there  ;  knew  that  she  loved  with  heart  and 
soul  and  body,  and  was  a  very  woman. 


52  JESS. 

She  had  called  to  Love  as  the  wretched  call  to  Death, 
and  Love  had  come  in  his  strength  and  possessed  her  utter- 
ly ;  and  now  for  a  little  while  she  was  afraid  to  pass  into 
the  shadow  of  his  wings,  as  the  wretched  who  call  to  Death 
fear  him  when  they  feel  his  icy  fingers.  But  the  fear 
passed,  and  the  great  joy  and  the  new  consciousness  of 
power  of  identity  that  the  inspiration  of  a  true  passion 
gives  to  some  strong,  deep  natures  remained,  and  after  a 
while  she  prepared  to  make  her  way  home  across  the  moun- 
tain-top, feeling  as  though  she  were  another  woman.  But 
still  she  did  not  go,  but  lay  there  with  closed  eyes  and 
drank  of  this  new,  intoxicating  wine.  So  absorbed  was 
she  that  she  did  not  notice  that  the  birds  had  ceased  to 
call,  and  that  the  eagle  had  fled  away  for  shelter.  She 
was  not  aware  of  the  great  and  solemn  hush  that  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  merry  voice  of  beast  and  bird,  and  pre- 
ceded the  breaking  of  the  gathered  storm. 

At  last  as  she  rose  to  go  she  opened  her  dark  eyes,  which 
had  been  for  the  most  part  shut  while  this  great  change 
was  passing  over  her,  and  with  a  natural  impulse  turned  to 
look  once  more  on  the  place  where  her  happiness  had  found 
her,  and  then  sank  down  again  with  a  little  exclamation. 
Where  was  the  light  and  the  glory  and  all  the  happiness 
of  the  life  that  moved  and  grew  around  her?  Gone,  and 
in  its  place  darkness  and  the  rising  mist  and  deep  and 
ominous  shadows.  As  she  lay  and  thought,  the  sun  had 
sunk  behind  the  hill  and  left  the  great  gulf  nearly  dark, 
and,  as  is  common  in  South  Africa,  the  heavy  storm-cloud 
had  crept  across  the  blue  sky  and  sealed  up  the  light  from 
above.  A  drear  wind  came  moaning  up  the  gorge  from 
the  plains  beyond  ;  the  heavy  rain-drops  began  to  fall  one 
by  one  ;  the  lightning  flickered  fitfully  in  the  belly  of  the 
advancing  cloud.  The  storrn  that  John  had  feared  was 
upon  her. 

Then  came  a'dreadful  hush.  Jess  had  recovered  herself 
by  now,  and,  knowing  what  to  expect,  snatched  up  her 


JESS.  53 

sketching-block  and  hurried  into  the  shelter  of  a  little  cave 
hollowed  by  water  in  the  side  of  the  cliff.  And  then  with 
a  rush  of  ice-cold  air  the  tempest  burst.  Down  came  the 
rain  in  a  sheet ;  and  then  flash  upon  flash  gleaming 
fiercely  through  the  vapor  -  laden  air,  and  roar  upon  roar 
echoing  in  the  rocky  cavities  in  volumes  of  fearful  sound. 
Then  another  pause  and  space  of  utter  silence,  followed  by 
a  blaze  of  light  that  dazed  and  blinded  her,  and  suddenly 
one  of  the  piled-up  columns  to  her  left  swayed  to  and  fro 
like  a  poplar  in  a  breeze,  and  fell  headlong  with  a  crash 
that  almost  mastered  the  awful  crackling  of  the  thunder 
overhead  and  the  shrieking  of  the  baboons  scared  from 
their  crannies  in  the  cliff.  Down  it  came  beneath  the 
stroke  of  the  fiery  sword,  the  brave  old  pillar  that  had 
lasted  out  so  many  centuries,  sending  clouds  of  dust  and 
fragments  high  up  into  the  blinding  rain,  and  carrying  awe 
and  wonder  into  the  heart  of  the  girl  who  watched  its  fall. 
Away  rolled  the  storm  as  quickly  as  it  had  come,  with  a 
sound  like  the  passing  of  the  artillery  of  an  embattled  host, 
and  then  a  gray  rain  set  in,  blotting  out  the  outlines  of 
everything,  like  an  enduring,  absorbing  grief,  dulling  the 
edge  and  temper  of  a  life.  Through  it  Jess,  scared  and 
wet  to  the  skin,  managed  to  climb  up  the  natural  steps, 
now  made  almost  impassable  by  the  prevailing  gloom  and 
the  rush  of  the  water  from  the  table-top  of  the  mountain, 
and  so  on  across  the  sodden  plain,  down  the  rocky  path 
on  the  farther  side,  past  the  little  walled -in  cemetery 
with  its  four  red-gums  planted  at  its  corners,  in  which  a 
stranger  who  had  died  at  Mooifontein  lay  buried,  and  so, 
just  as  the  darkness  of  the  wet  night  came  down  like  a 
cloud,  home  at  last.  At  the  back  door  stood  her  old  uncle 
with  a  lantern, 

"  Is  that  you,  Jess  ?"  he  called  out  in  his  stentorian 
tones.  "Lord!  what  a  sight!"  as  she  emerged,  her  sod- 
den dress  clinging  to  her  slight  form,  her  hands  bleeding 
with  clambering  over  the  rocks,  her  curling  hair,  which 


64  JESS. 

had  broken  loose,  hanging  down  her  back  and  half  cover- 
ing her  face. 

"Lord,  what  a  sight!"  he  ejaculated,  again.  "Why, 
Jess,  where  have  you  been  ?  Captain  Niel  has  gone  out 
to  look  for  you  with  the  Kaffirs." 

"  I  have  been  sketching  in  Leuw  Kloof,  and  got  caught 
in  the  storm.  There,  uncle,  let  me  pass,  I  wan*  to  get 
these  wet  things  off.  It  is  a  bitter  night,"  and  off  she 
ran  to  her  room,  leaving  a  long  trail  of  water  behind  her 
as  she  passed.  The  old  man  entered  the  house,  shut  the 
door,  and  blew  out  the  lantern. 

"  Now,  what  is  it  she  reminds  me  of  ?"  he  said  aloud  as 
he  groped  his  way  down  the  passage  to  the  sitting-room. 
"  Ah,  I  know;  that  night  when  she  first  came  here  out  of 
the  rain  leading  Bessie  by  the  hand.  What  can  the  girl 
have  been  thinking  of,  not  to  see  the  thunder  coming  up  ? 
She  ought  to  know  the  signs  of  the  weather  here  by  now. 
Dreaming,  I  suppose,  dreaming.  She's  an  odd  woman, 
Jess,  very."  Perhaps  he  did  not  quite  know  how  accu- 
rate his  guess  was,  and  how  true  the  conclusion  he  drew 
from  it.  Certainly  she  had  been  dreaming,  and  she  was 
an  odd  woman. 

Meanwhile  Jess  was  rapidly  changing  her  clothes  and 
removing  the  traces  of  her  struggle  with  the  elements. 
But  of  that  other  struggle  that  she  had  gone  through  she 
could  not  remove  the  traces.  They  and  the  love  that  arose 
from  it  would  endure  as  long  as  she  endured.  It  was  her 
former  self  that  had  been  cast  off  in  it  and  that  now  lay 
behind  her,  an  empty  and  meaningless  thing  like  the  shape- 
less pile  of  garments.  It  was  all  very  strange.  So  he 
had  gone  to  look  for  her,  and  had  not  found  her.  She 
was  glad  that  he  had  gone.  It  made  her  happy  to  think 
of  him  searching  and  calling  in  the  wet  and  the  night. 
She  was  only  a  woman,  and  it  was  natural  that  she  should 
feel  thus.  By  and  by  he  would  come  back  and  find  her 
clothed  and  in  her  right  mind  and  ready  to  greet  him. 


JESS.  55 

She  was  glad  that  he  had  not  seen  her,  wet,  dishevelled, 
and  shapeless.  A  woman  looks  so  unpleasant  like  that. 
It  might  have  turned  him  against  her.  Men  like  women 
to  look  nice  and  clean  and  pretty.  That  gave  her  an 
idea.  She  turned  to  her  glass  and,  holding  the  light 
above  her  head,  studied  her  own  face  attentively  in  it. 
She  was  a  woman  with  as  little  vanity  in  her  composition 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  have,  and  she  had  not  till 
now  given  her  personal  looks  much  consideration.  They 
had  not  been  of  great  importance  to  her  in  the  Wakker- 
Btroom  district  of  the  Transvaal.  But  now  all  of  a  sudden 
they  became  very  important;  and  so  she  stood  and  looked 
at  her  own  wonderful  eyes,  at  the  masses  of  curling  brown 
hair  still  damp  and  shining  from  the  rain,  at  the  curious 
pallid  face  and  the  clear-cut,  determined  mouth. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  my  eyes  and  hair,  I  should  be  very 
ugly,"  she  said  to  herself  aloud.  "  If  only  I  were  beauti- 
ful like  Bessie,  now."  The  thought  of  her  sister  gave  her 
another  idea.  What  if  he  were  to  prefer  Bessie  ?  Now 
she  thought  of  it,  he  had  been  very  attentive  to  Bessie. 
A  feeling  of  dreadful  doubt  and  jealousy  passed  through 
her,  for  women  like  Jess  know  what  jealousy  is  in  its  pain. 
Supposing  that  it  was  all  in  vain ;  supposing  that  what  she 
had  to-day  given — given  with  both  hands  once  and  for 
all,  so  that  she  could  not  take  it  back,  had  been  given  to 
a  man  who  loved  another  woman,  and  that  woman  her 
own  dear  sister  ?  Supposing  that  the  fate  of  her  love  was 
to  be  like  water  falling  unalteringly  on  the  hard  rock  that 
heeds  it  not  and  retains  it  not.  True,  the  water  wears 
the  rock  away ;  but  could  she  be  satisfied  with  that  ?  She 
could  master  him,  she  knew;  even  if  things  were  so,  she 
could  win  him  to  herself,  she  had  read  it  in  his  eyes  that 
afternoon;  but  could  she,  who  had  promised  her  dead 
mother  to  cherish  and  protect  her  sister,  whom  till  this 
afternoon  she  had  loved  better  than  anything  in  the 
world,  and  whom  she  still  loved  more  dearly  than  her  life 
— could  she,  if  it  should  happen  to  be  thus,  rob  that  sister 


56  JESS. 

of  her  lover  ?  And  if  it  should  be  so,  what  would  her  life 
be  like  ?  It  would  be  like  the  great  pillar  after  the  light- 
ning had  smitten  it,  a  pile  of  scattered,  smoking  fragments, 
a  very  heaped-up  dbbris  of  a  life.  She  could  feel  it  even  now. 
No  wonder  she  sat  there  upon  the  little  white  bed  hold- 
ing her  hand  against  her  heart  and  feeling  terribly  afraid. 

Just  then  she  heard  John's  footstep  in  the  hall. 

"  I  can't  find  her,"  he  said,  in  an  anxious  tone,  to  some 
one  as  she  rose,  taking  her  candle  with  her,  and  left  the 
room.  The  light  from  the  candle  fell  full  upon  his  face 
and  dripping  clothes.  It  was  white  and  anxious,  and  she 
was  glad  to  see  the  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  thank  God!  here  you  are!"  he  said,  catching  her 
hand.  "I  began  to  think  you  were  quite  lost.  I  have 
been  right  down  the  Kloof  after  you,  and  got  a  nasty  fall 
over  it." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
again  their  eyes  met,  and  again  the  glance  thrilled  him. 
There  was  such  a  wonderful  light  in  Jess's  eyes  that  night. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  they  sat  down  as  usual  to  sup- 
per. Bessie  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  till  it  was  a 
quarter  over,  and  then  sat  very  silent  through  it.  Jess 
narrated  her  adventure  in  the  Kloof,  and  everybody  lis- 
tened, but  nobody  said  much.  There  was  a  sort  of  shadow 
over  the  house  that  evening,  or  perhaps  it  was  that  each 
of  the  party  was  thinking  of  his  own  affairs.  After  sup- 
per old  Silas  Croft  began  talking  about  the  political  state 
of  the  country,  which  gave  him  uneasiness.  He  said  that 
he  believed  the  Boers  really  meant  to  rebel  against  the 
government  this  time.  Frank  Muller  had  told  him  so, 
and  he  always  knew  what  was  going  on.  This  announce- 
ment did  not  tend  to  raise  anybody's  spirits,  and  the  even- 
ing passed  as  silently  as  the  meal  had  done.  At  last  Bes- 
sie got  up,  stretched  her  rounded  arms,  and  said  that  she 
was  tired  and  going  to  bed. 

"  Come  into  my  room,"  she  whispered  to  her  sister  as 
she  passed.  "I  want  to  speak  to  you." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LOVE'S   YOUNG    DREAM. 

AFTER  waiting  a  few  minutes,  Jess  said  "  Good-night," 
and  went  straight  to  Bessie's  room.  Her  sister  had  un- 
dressed, and  was  sitting  on  her  bed,  wrapped  in  a  blue 
dressing-gown  that  suited  her  fair  complexion  admirably, 
and  with  a  very  desponding  expression  on  her  beautiful 
face.  Bessie  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  easily 
elated  and  easily  cast  down. 

Jess  came  up  to  her  and  kissed  her. 

"What  is  it,  love?"  she  said.  Her  sister  would  never 
have  divined  the  gnawing  anxiety  that  was  eating  at  her 
heart  as  she  said  it. 

"  Oh,  Jess,  I'm  so  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  do  so 
want  you  to  advise  me  —  that  is,  to  tell  me  what  you 
think,"  and  she  paused. 

"  You  must  tell  me  what  it  is  all  about  first,  Bessie 
dear,"  she  said,  sitting  down  opposite  to  her  in  such  a  po- 
sition that  her  face  was  shaded  from  the  light.  Bessie 
tapped  her  naked  foot  against  the  matting  with  which  the 
little  room  was  carpeted.  It  was  an  exceedingly  pretty 
foot. 

"  Well,  dear  old  girl,  it  is  just  this — Frank  Muller  has 
been  heje  to  ask  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Ob,"  said  Jess,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  so  that  was  all  ?" 
She  felt  as  though  a  ton-weight  had  been  lifted  from  her 
heart.  She  had  expected  that  bit  of  news  for  some  time. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  marry  him,  and  when  I  said  I  would 
not,  he  behaved  like — like — " 


58  JESS. 

"  Like  a  Boer,"  suggested  Jess. 

"  Like  a  brute,"  went  on  Bessie,  with  emphasis. 

"  So  you  don't  like  Frank  Muller  ?" 

"Like  him  !  I  loathe  the  man.  You  don't  know  how  I 
loathe  him,  with  his  handsome,  bad  face  and  his  cruel 
eyes.  I  always  loathed  him,  and  now  I  hate  him  too. 
But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it;"  and  she  did,  with  many 
feminine  comments  and  interpolations. 

Jess  sat  quite  still,  and  waited  till  she  had  finished. 

"  Well,  dear,"  she  said,  at  last, "  you  are  not  going  to 
marry  him,  and  so  there  is  an  end  of  it.  You  can't  de- 
test the  man  more  than  I  do.  I  have  watched  him  for 
years,"  she  went  on,  with  rising  anger,  "  and  I  tell  you 
that  Frank  Muller  is  a  liar  and  a  traitor.  That  man 
would  betray  his  own  father  if  he  thought  it  to  his  in- 
terest to  do  so.  He  hates  uncle — I  am  sure  he  does,  al- 
though he  pretends  to  be  so  fond  of  him.  I  am  sure  that 
he  has  tried  often  and  often  to  stir  up  the  Boers  against 
him.  Old  Hans  Coetzee  told  me  that  he  denounced  him 
to  the  Veld-Cornet  as  an  '  uitlander '  and  a  '  verdomde 
Engelsmann  '  about  two  years  before  the  annexation,  and 
tried  to  get  him  to  persuade  the  Landdrost  to  report  him 
as  a  law-breaker  to  the  Raad;  while  all  the  time  he  was 
pretending  to  be  so  friendly.  Then  in  the  Sikukuni  war 
it  was  Frank  Muller  who  caused  them  to  commandeer  un- 
cle's two  best  wagons  and  the  spans.  He  gave  none 
himself,  nothing  but  a  couple  of  bags  of  meal.  He  is  a 
wicked  fellow,  Bessie,  and  a  dangerous  fellow;  but  he  has 
more  brains  and  more  power  about  him  than  any  man  in 
the  Transvaal,  and  you  will  have  to  be  very  careful,  or  he 
will  do  us  all  a  bad  turn." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Bessie;  "well,  he  can't  do  much  now  that 
the  country  is  English." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  I  am  not  so  sure  that  the 
country  is  going  to  stop  English.  You  laugh  at  me  for 
reading  the  home  papers,  but  I  see  things  there  that  make 


JESS.  59 

me  doubtful.  The  other  people  are  in  power  now  in  Eng- 
land, and  one  does  not  know  what  they  may  do  ;  you 
heard  what  uncle  said  to-night.  They  might  give  us  up 
to  the  Boers.  You  must  remember  that  we  far-away 
people  are  only  the  counters  with  which  they  play  their 
game." 

"  Nonsense,  Jess,"  said  Bessie,  indignantly.  "  English- 
men are  not  like  that.  When  they  say  a  thing,  they  stick 
to  it." 

"  They  used  to,  you  mean,"  answered  Jess  with  a  shrug, 
and  got  up  from  her  chair  to  go  to  bed. 

Bessie  began  to  fidget  her  white  feet  over  one  another. 

"  Stop  a  bit,  Jess  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  about  something  else." 

Jess  sat  or  rather  dropped  back  into  her  chair,  and  her 
pale  face  turned  paler  than  ever  ;  but  Bessie  blushed  rosy- 
red  and  hesitated. 

"  It  is  about  Captain  Niel,"  she  said,  at  length. 

"  Oh,"  answered  Jess,  with  a  little  laugh,  and  her  voice 
sounded  cold  and  strange  in  her  own  ears.  "  Has  he  been 
following  Frank  Muller's  example,  and  proposing  to  you 
too  ?" 

"  No-o,"  said  Bessie,  "  but " — and  here  she  rose  and,  sit- 
ting on  a  stool  by  her  elder  sister's  chair,  rested  her  fore- 
head against  her  knee — "but  I  love  him,  and  I  believe  that 
he  loves  me.  This  morning  he  told  me  that  I  was  the 
prettiest  woman  he  had  seen  at  home  or  abroad,  and  the 
sweetest,  too;  and  do  you  know,"  she  said,  looking  up  and 
giving  a  happy  little  laugh,  "I  think  he  meant  it,  too." 

"Are  you  joking, Bessie,  or  are  you  really  in  earnest?" 

"  In  earnest  !  ah,  but  that  I  am,  and  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  say  it.  I  fell  in  love  with  John  Niel  when  he  killed 
that  cock  ostrich.  He  looked  so  strong  and  savage  as  he 
fought  with  it.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  see  a  man  put  out  all 
liis  strength.  And  then  he  is  such  a  gentleman! — so  dif- 
ferent from  the  men  we  see  round  here.  Oh,  yes,  I  fell  in 


60  JESS. 

love  with  him  at  once,  and  I  have  got  deeper  and  deeper 
in  love  with  him  ever  since,  and  if  he  does  not  marry  me 
I  think  that  it  will  break  my  heart.  There,  that's  the 
truth,  Jess  dear,"  and  she  dropped  her  golden  head  on  to 
her  sister's  knees  and  began  to  cry,  softly,  at  the  thought. 

And  the  sister  sat  there  on  the  chair,  her  hand  hanging 
idly  by  her  side,  her  white  face  set  and  impassive  as  that 
of  an  Egyptian  sphinx,  and  the  large  eyes  gazing  far  away 
through  the  window,  against  which  the  rain  was  beating 
— far  away  out  into  the  night  and  the  storm.  She  heard 
the  surging  of  the  storm,  she  heard  her  sister's  weeping, 
her  eyes  perceived  the  dark  square  of  the  window  through 
which  they  appeared  to  look,  she  could  feel  Bessie's  head 
upon  her  knee — yes,  she  could  see  and  hear  and  feel,  and 
yet  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  dead.  The  lightning 
had  fallen  on  her  soul  as  it  fell  on  the  pillar  of  rock,  and  it 
was  as  the  pillar  was.  And  it  had  fallen  so  soon  !  there 
had  been  such  a  little  span  of  happiness  and  hope  !  And 
so  she  sat,  like  a  stony  sphinx,  and  Bessie  wept  softly  be- 
fore her,  like  a  beautiful,  breathing,  loving  human  sup- 
pliant, and  the  two  formed  a  picture  and  a  contrast  such 
as  the  student  of  human  nature  does  not  often  get  the 
chance  of  seeing. 

It  was  the  elder  sister  who  spoke  first  after  all. 

"  Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "  what  are  you  crying  about  ? 
You  love  Captain  Niel,  and  you  believe  that  he  loves  you. 
Surely  this  is  nothing  to  cry  about." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  is,"  said  Bessie  more  cheer- 
fully; "but  I  was  thinking  how  dreadful  it  would  be  if  I 
lost  him." 

"  I  don't  think  that  you  need  be  afraid,"  said  Jess ; 
"  and  now,  dear,  I  really  must  go  to  bed,  I  am  so  tired. 
Good-night,  my  dear  ;  God  bless  you  !  I  think  that  you 
have  made  a  very  wise  choice.  Captain  Niel  is  a  man 
whom  any  woman  might  love,  and  be  proud  of  loving." 

In  another  minute  she  was  in  her  room,  and  there  her 


JESS.  61 

composure  left  her,  for  she  was  but  a  loving  woman  after 
all.  She  flung  herself  upon  her  bed,  and,  hiding  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  weeping — a  very 
different  thing  from  Bessie's  gentle  tears.  Her  grief  ab- 
solutely convulsed  her,  and  she  pushed  the  bed-clothes 
against  her  mouth  to  prevent  the  sound  of  it  penetrating 
the  partition  wall  and  reaching  John  Niel's  ears,  for  his 
room  was  next  to  hers.  Even  in  the  midst  of  her  suffer- 
ing the  thought  of  the  irony  of  the  thing  forced  itself 
into  her  mind.  There,  separated  from,  her  only  by  a  few 
inches  of  lath  and  plaster  and  some  four  or  five  feet  of 
space,  was  the  man  for  whom  she  mourned  thus,  and  yet 
he  was  as  ignorant  of  it  as  though  he  were  thousands  of 
miles  away.  Sometimes,  at  such  acute  crises  in  our  lives, 
the  limitations  of  our  physical  nature  do  strike  us  in  this 
sort  of  way.  It  is  strange  to  be  so  near  and  yet  so  far, 
and  it  brings  the  absolute  and  utter  loneliness  of  every 
created  being  home  to  the  mind  in  a  manner  that  is  forci- 
ble and  at  times  almost  terrible.  John  Niel  going  com- 
posedly to  sleep,  his  mind  happy  with  the  recollection  of 
those  two  right  and  left  shots,  and  Jess  lying  on  her  bed, 
six  feet  away,  and  sobbing  out  her  stormy  heart  over  him, 
are  after  all  but  types  of  what  is  continually  going  on  in 
this  remarkable  world.  How  often  do  we  understand  one 
another's  grief  ?  and,  when  we  do,  by  what  standard  can 
we  measure  it  ?  More  especially  is  comprehension  rare  if 
we  happen  to  be  the  original  cause  of  the  trouble.  Do  we 
think  of  the  feelings  of  the  beetles  it  is  our  painful  duty 
to  crush  into  nothingness  ?  Not  at  all.  If  we  have  any 
compxmctions,  they  are  quickly  absorbed  in  the  pride  of 
our  capture.  And  more  often  still,  as  in  the  present  case, 
we  set  our  foot  upon  the  poor  victim  by  pure  accident  or 
venial  carelessness. 

Presently  he  was  fast  asleep,  and  she,  her  paroxysm 
past,  was  walking  up  and  down,  down  and  up,  her  little 
room,  her  bare  feet  falling  noiselessly  on  the  carpeting  as 


62  JESS. 

she  strove  to  wear  out  the  first  bitterness  of  her  woe.  Oh, 
that  it  lay  in  her  power  to  recall  the  past  few  days  !  Oh, 
that  she  had  never  seen  his  face,  that  must  now  be  ever 
before  her  eyes  !  But  for  her  there  was  no  such  possibility, 
and  she  felt  it.  She  knew  her  own  nature  well.  Her  heart 
had  spoken,  and  the  word  it  said  must  roll  on  continually 
through  the  spaces  of  her  mind.  Who  can  recall  the  spoken 
word,  and  who  can  set  a  limit  to  its  echoes  ?  It  is  not  so 
with  all  women,  but  here  and  there  may  be  found  a  nature 
where  it  is  so.  Spirits  like  this  poor  girl's  are  too  deep, 
and  partake  too  much  of  a  divine  immutability,  to  shift 
and  suit  themselves  to  the  changing  circumstances  of  a 
fickle  world.  They  have  no  middle  course  ;  they  cannot 
halt  half-way  ;  they  set  all  their  fortune  on  a  throw.  And 
when  the  throw  is  lost,  their  hearts  are  broken,  and  their 
happiness  passes  away  like  a  swallow. 

For  in  such  a  nature  love  rises  like  the  wind  on  the  quiet 
breast  of  some  far  sea.  None  can  say  whence  it  comes  or 
whither  it  blows  ;  but  there  it  is,  lashing  the  waters  to  a 
storm,  so  that  they  roll  in  thunder  all  the  long  day  through, 
throwing  their  white  arms  on  high,  as  they  clasp  at  the 
evasive  air,  till  the  darkness  that  is  death  comes  down  and 
covers  them. 

What  is  the  interpretation  of  it  ?  Why  does  the  great 
wind  stir  the  deep  waters  ?  It  does  not  ripple  the  shallow 
pool  as  it  passes,  for  shallowness  can  but  ripple  and  throw 
up  shadows.  We  cannot  tell,  but  this  we  know — that  deep 
things  only  can  be  deeply  moved.  It  is  the  penalty  of 
depth  and  greatness  ;  it  is  the  price  they  pay  for  the  divine 
privilege  of  suffering  and  sympathy.  The  shallow  pools, 
the  looking-glasses  of  our  little  life,  know  nought,  feel 
nought.  Poor  things!  they  can  but  ripple  and  reflect. 
But  the  deep  sea,  in  its  torture,  may  perchance  catch  some 
echo  of  God's  voice  sounding  down  the  driving  gale  ;  and, 
as  it  lifts  itself  and  tosses  up  its  waves  in  agony,  may  per- 
ceive a  glow,  flowing  from  a  celestial  sky  that  is  set  beyond 
the  horizon  that  bounds  its  being. 


JESS.  63 

Suffering,  mental  suffering,  is  a  prerogative  of  greatness, 
and  even  here  there  lies  an  exquisite  joy  at  its  core.  For 
everything  has  its  compensations.  Nerves  such  as  these 
can  thrill  with  a  high  happiness  that  will  sweep  unfelt  over 
the  mass  of  men.  Thus  he  who  is  stricken  with  grief  at  the 
sight  of  the  world's  misery — as  all  great  and  good  men 
must  be — is  at  times  lifted  up  with  joy  by  catching  some 
faint  gleam  of  the  almighty  purpose  that  underlies  it  all. 
So  it  was  with  the  Son  of  Man  in  his  darkest  hours;  the 
Spirit  that  enabled  him  to  compass  out  the  measure  of 
the  world's  suffering  and  sin  enabled  him  also,  knowing 
their  purposes,  to  gaze  beyond  them;  and  thus  it  is,  too, 
with  those  deep-hearted  children  of  his  race,  who  partake, 
however  dimly,  of  his  divinity. 

And  so,  even  in  this  hour  of  her  darkest  bitterness  and 
grief,  a  gleam  of  comfort  struggled  to  Jess's  breast  just  as 
the  first  ray  of  dawn  was  struggling  through  the  stormy 
night.  She  would  sacrifice  herself  to  her  sister — that  she 
had  determined  on;  and  hence  came  that  cold  gleam  of 
happiness,  for  there  is  happiness  in  self-sacrifice,  whatever 
the  cynical  may  say.  At  first  her  woman's  nature  had  risen 
in  rebellion  against  the  thought.  Why  should  she  throw 
her  life  away?  She  had  as  good  a  right  to  him  as  Bessie, 
and  she  knew  that  by  the  strength  of  her  own  hand  she 
could  hold  him  against  Bessie  in  all  her  beauty,  however 
far  things  had  gone  between  them;  and  she  believed,  as  a 
jealous  woman  is  prone  to  do,  that  they  had  gone  much 
farther  than  they  had. 

But  by  and  by,  as  she  pursued  that  weary  march,  her 
better  self  rose  up  and  mastered  the  promptings  of  her 
heart.  Bessie  loved  him,  and  Bessie  was  weaker  than  she, 
and  less  suited  to  bear  pain,  and  she  had  sworn  to  her  dy- 
ing mother — for  Bessie  had  been  her  mother's  darling— to 
promote  her  happiness  and,  come  what  would,  to  comfort 
and  protect  her  by  every  means  in  her  power.  It  was  a 
wide  oath,  and  she  was  only  a  child  when  she  took  it,  but 


64  JESS. 

it  bound  her  conscience  none  the  less,  and  surely  it  covered 
this.  Besides,  she  dearly  loved  her — far,  far  more  than 
she  loved  herself.  No,  Bessie  should  have  her  lover,  and 
she  should  never  know  what  it  had  cost  her  to  give  him 
up  ;  and  as  for  herself,  well,  she  must  go  away  like  a 
wounded  buck,  and  hide  till  she  got  well — or  died. 

She  laughed  a  drear  little  laugh,  and  went  and  brushed 
her  hair  just  as  the  broad  lights  of  the  dawn  came  stream- 
ing across  the  misty  veldt.  But  she  did  not  look  at  her 
face  again  in  the  glass;  she  cared  no  more  about  it  now. 
Then  she  threw  herself  down  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  utter 
exhaustion  before  it  was  time  to  go  out  again  and  face 
the  world  and  her  new  sorrow. 

Poor  Jess!  Love's  young  dream  had  not  overshadowed 
her  for  long.  It  had  tarried  just  three  hours.  But  it  had 
left  other  dreams  behind. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Jess  that  morning  to  old  Silas  Croft  as  he 
stood  by  the  kraal-gate,  where  he  had  been  counting  out 
the  sheep — an  operation  requiring  great  quickness  of  eye, 
and  on  the  accurate  performance  of  which  he  greatly  prided 
himself. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say. 
It  was  very  neatly  done;  it  isn't  everybody  who  can  count 
out  six  hundred  running  hungry  sheep  without  a  mistake. 
But,  then,  I  oughtn't  to  say  too  much,  for  you  see  I  have 
been  at  it  for  fifty  years,  in  the  Old  Colony  and  here. 
Now,  many  a  man  would  get  fifty  sheep  wrong.  There's 
Niel  now — " 

"  Uncle,"  said  she,  wincing  a  little  at  the  name,  as  a 
horse  with  a  sore  back  winces  at  the  touch  of  the  saddle, 
"it  wasn't  about  the  sheep  that  I  was  going  to  speak  to 
you. .  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor." 

"A  favor?  Why,  God  bless  the  girl,  how  pale  you 
look! — not  but  what  you  are  always  pale.  Well,  what  is 
it  now  ?" 


JESS.  65 

"  I  want  to  go  up  to  Pretoria  by  the  post-cart  that  leaves 
Wakkerstroom  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  to  stop  for  a 
couple  of  months  with  my  schoolfellow,  Jane  Neville.  I 
have  often  promised  to  go,  and  I  have  never  gone." 

"  Well,  I  never!"  said  the  old  man.  "My  stay-at-home 
Jess  wanting  to  go  away,  and  without  Bessie,  too!  What 
is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  I  want  a  change,  uncle — I  do  indeed.  I  hope  you  won't 
thwart  me  in  this." 

Her  uncle  looked  at  her  steadily  with  his  keen  gray 
eyes. 

"Humph!"  he  said;  " you  want  to  go  away,  and  there's 
an  end  of  it.  Best  not  ask  too  many  questions  where  a 
maid  is  concerned.  Very  well,  my  dear,  go  if  you  like, 
though  I  shall  miss  you." 

"  Thank  you,  uncle,"  she  said,  and  kissed  him,  and  then 
turned  and  went. 

Old  Croft  took  off  his  broad  hat  and  polished  his  bald 
head  with  a  red  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  There's  something  up  with  that  girl,"  he  said  aloud  to 
a  lizard  that  had  crept  out  of  the  crevices  of  the  stone  wall 
to  bask  in  the  sun.  "  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I  look,  and  I 
say  that  there  is  something  wrong  with  her.  She  is  odder 
than  ever,"  and  he  hit  viciously  at  the  lizard  with  his  stick, 
whereon  it  promptly  bolted  into  its  crack,  returning  pres- 
ently to  see  if  the  irate  "  human  "  had  departed. 

"  However,"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  made  his  way  up  to 
the  house,  "  I  am  glad  that  it  was  not  Bessie.     I  couldn't 
bear,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  part  with  Bessie  even  for  a 
couple  of  months." 
5 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

JESS   GOES   TO   PEETOEIA. 

THAT  day,  at  dinner,  Jess  suddenly  announced  that  she 
was  going  on  the  morrow  to  Pretoria  to  see  Jane  Neville. 

"  To  see  Jane  Neville  !"  said  Bessie,  opening  her  blue 
eyes  wide.  "  Why,  it  was  only  last  month  you  said  that 
you  did  not  care  about  Jane  Neville  now,  because  she  had 
grown  so  vulgar.  Don't  you  remember  when  she  stopped 
here  on  her  way  down  to  Natal  last  year,  and  held  up  her 
fat  hands,  and  said,  'Ah,  Jess — Jess  is  a  genius!  It  is  a 
privilege  to  know  her.'  And  then  she  wanted  you  to  quote 
Shakespeare  to  that  lump  of  a  brother  of  hers,  and  you 
told  her  that  if  she  did  not  hold  her  tongue  she  would  not 
enjoy  the  privilege  much  longer.  And  now  you  want  to 
go  and  stop  with  her  for  two  months!  Well,  Jess,  you  are 
odd.  And,  what's  more,  I  think  it  is  very  unkind  of  you 
to  go  away  for  so  long." 

To  all  of  which  prattle  Jess  said  nothing,  but  merely  re- 
iterated her  determination  to  go. 

John,  too,  was  astonished  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  a 
little  disgusted.  Since  the  previous  day,  when  he  had  that 
talk  with  her  in  Lion  Kloof,  Jess  had  assumed  a  clearer 
and  more  definite  interest  in  his  eyes.  Before  that  she  had 
been  an  enigma;  now  he  had  guessed  enough  about  her  to 
make  him  anxious  to  know  more.  Indeed,  he  had  not  per- 
haps realized  how  strong  and  definite  his  interest  was  till 
he  heard  that  she  was  going  away  for  a  long  period.  Sud- 
denly it  struck  him  that  the  farm  would  be  very  dull  with- 
out this  interesting  woman  moving  about  the  place  in  her 


JESS.  67 

silent,  resolute  kind  of  way.  Bessie  was,  no  doubt,  delight- 
ful and  charming  to  look  on,  but  she  had  not  got  her  sister's 
brains  and  originality;  and  John  Niel  was  sufficiently  above 
the  ordinary  run  to  thoroughly  appreciate  intellect  and  orig- 
inality in  a  woman,  instead  of  standing  aghast  at  it.  She 
interested  him  intensely,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and,  man- 
like, he  felt  exceedingly  put  out,  and  even  sulky,  at  the 
idea  of  her  departure.  He  looked  at  her  in  remonstrance, 
and  even,  in  awkwardness  begotten  of  his  irritation, 
knocked  down  the  vinegar  cruet  and  made  a  mess  upon 
the  table;  but  she  evaded  his  eyes  and  took  no  notice  of 
the  vinegar.  Then,  feeling  that  he  had  done  all  that  in 
him  lay,  he  went  to  see  about  the  ostriches;  first  of  all 
hanging  about  a  little  to  see  if  Jess  would  come  out,  which 
she  did  not.  Indeed,  he  saw  nothing  more  of  her  till  sup- 
per-time. Bessie  told  him  that  she  said  she  was  busy 
packing ;  but,  as  one  can  only  take  twenty  pounds'  weight 
of  luggage  in  a  post-cart,  this  did  not  quite  convince  him 
that  it  was  so  in  fact. 

At  supper  she  was,  if  possible,  even  more  quiet  than  she 
had  been  at  dinner.  After  it  was  over  he  asked  her  to  sing, 
but  she  declined,  saying  that  she  had  given  up  singing  for 
the  present,  and  persisting  in  her  statement  in  spite  of  the 
chorus  of  remonstrance  it  aroused.  The  birds  only  sing 
while  they  are  mating;  and  it  is,  by  the  way,  a  curious 
thing,  and  suggestive  of  the  theory  that  the  same  great 
principles  pervade  all  nature,  that  Jess,  now  that  her 
trouble  had  overtaken  her,  and  that  she  had  lost  her  love 
which  had  suddenly  sprung  from  her  heart — full-grown 
and  clad  in  power  as  Athena  sprang  from  the  head  of  Jove 
— had  no  further  inclination  to  use  her  divine  gift  of  song. 
It  probably  was  nothing  more  than  a  coincidence,  but  it 
was  a  curious  one. 

The  arrangement  was,  that  on  the  morrow  Jess  was  to 
be  driven  in  the  Cape  cart  to  Martinus-Wesselstroom,  more 
commonly  called  Wakkerstroom,  and  there  catch  the  post- 


68  JESS. 

cart,  which  was  timed  to  leave  the  town  at  midday,  though 
when  it  would  leave  was  quite  another  matter.  Post-carts 
are  not  particular  to  a  day  or  so  in  the  Transvaal. 

Old  Silas  Croft  wras  going  to  drive  her  with  Bessie,  who 
had  some  shopping  to  do  in  Wakkerstroom,  as  ladies  some- 
times have;  but  at  the  last  moment  the  old  man  got  a  pre- 
monitory twinge  of  the  rheumatism,  to  which  he  was  a 
martyr,  and  could  not  go;  so,  of  course,  John  volunteered, 
and,  though  Jess  raised  some  difficulties,  Bessie  furthered 
the  idea,  and  in  the  end  his  offer  was  accepted. 

Accordingly  at  half -past  eight  on  a  beautiful  morning 
up  came  the  tented  cart,  with  its  two  massive  wheels,  stout 
Btinkwood  disselboom,  and  four  spirited  young  horses;  to 
the  head  of  which  the  Hottentot  Jantje,  assisted  by  the 
Zulu  Mouti,  clad  in  the  sweet  simplicity  of  a  moocha,  a 
few  feathers  in  his  wool,  and  a  horn  snuff-box  stuck  through 
the  fleshy  part  of  the  ear,  hung  grimly  on.  In  they  got — 
John  first,  then  Bessie  next  to  him,  then  Jess.  Next 
Jantje  scrambled  up  behind;  and  after  some  preliminary 
backing  and  plunging,  and  showing  a  disposition  to  twine 
themselves  affectionately  round  the  orange-trees,  off  went 
the  horses  at  a  hand  gallop,  and  away  swung  the  cart  after 
them,  in  a  fashion  that  would  have  frightened  anybody 
not  accustomed  to  that  mode  of  progression  pretty  well 
out  of  his  wits.  As  it  was,  John  had  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  keep  the  four  horses  together  and  to  prevent  them 
from  bolting,  and  this  alone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rattling 
and  jolting  of  the  vehicle  over  the  uneven  track,  was  suf- 
ficient to  put  a  stop  to  any  attempt  at  conversation. 

Wakkerstroom  was  about  eighteen  miles  from  Mooifon- 
tein,  a  distance  that  they  covered  well  within  the  two  hours. 
Here  the  horses  were  outspanned  at  the  hotel,  and  John 
went  into  the  house  whence  the  post-cart  was  to  start  and 
booked  Jess's  seat,  and  then  joined  the  ladies  at  the  "  Kan- 
toor,"  or  store  where  they  were  shopping.  After  the  shop- 
ping was  done  they  went  back  to  the  inn  together  and  had 


JESS.  69 

some  dinner;  by  which  time  the  Hottentot  driver  of  the 
cart  began  to  tune  up  lustily,  but  unmelodiously,  on  a 
bugle  to  inform  intending  passengers  that  it  was  time  to 
start.  Bessie  was  out  of  the  room  at  the  moment,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  a  peculiarly  dirty  -  looking  coolie 
waiter,  there  was  nobody  about. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  be  away,  Miss  Jess  ?"  asked 
John. 

"  Two  months  more  or  less,  Captain  Niel." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  going,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
"  It  will  be  very  dull  at  the  farm  without  you." 

"  There  will  be  Bessie  for  you  to  talk  to,"  she  answered, 
turning  her  face  to  the  window,  and  affecting  to  watch 
the  inspanning  of  the  post-cart  in  the  yard  on  which  it 
looked. 

"  Captain  Niel!"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"Yes?" 

"  Mind  you  look  after  Bessie  while  I  am  away.  Listen! 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  You  know  Frank 
Muller?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  him,  and  a  very  disagreeable  fellow  he  is." 

"  Well,  he  threatened  Bessie  the  other  day,  and  he  is  a 
man  who  is  quite  capable  of  carrying  out  a  threat.  I  can't 
tell  you  anything  more  about  it,  but  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  to  protect  Bessie  if  any  occasion  for  it  should  arise.  I 
do  not  know  that  it  will,  but  it  might.  Will  you  promise  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  will ;  I  would  do  a  great  deal  more  than 
that  if  you  asked  me  to,  Jess,"  he  answered,  tenderly,  for 
now  that  she  was  going  away  he  felt  curiously  drawn  tow- 
ards her,  and  was  anxious  to  show  it. 

"Never  mind  me,"  she  said,  with  an  impatient  little 
movement.  "Bessie  is  sweet  enough  and  lovely  enough 
to  be  looked  after  for  her  own  sake,  I  should  think." 

Before  he  could  say  any  more,  in  came  Bessie  herself, 
saying  that  the  driver  was  waiting,  and  they  went  out  to 
eee  her  sister  off. 


70  JESS. 

"Don't  forget  your  promise,"  Jess  whispered  to  him, 
bending  down,  as  he  helped  her  into  the  cart,  so  low  that 
her  lips  almost  touched  him  and  her  breath  rested  for  a 
second  on  his  cheek  like  the  ghost  of  a  kiss. 

In  another  moment  the  sisters  had  embraced  each  other, 
tenderly  enough ;  the  driver  had  sounded  once  more  on  his 
awful  bugle,  and  away  went  the  cart  at  full  gallop,  bear- 
ing with  it  Jess,  two  other  passengers,  and  her  majesty's 
mails.  John  and  Bessie  stood  for  a  moment  watching  its 
mad  career,  as  it  went  splashing  and  banging  down  the 
straggling  street  towards  the  wide  plains  beyond,  and  then 
turned  to  enter  the  inn  again  and  prepare  for  their  home- 
ward drive.  As  they  did  so,  an  old  Boer,  named  Hans 
Coetzee,  with  whom  John  was  already  slightly  acquainted, 
came  up,  and,  extending  an  enormously  big  and  thick  hand, 
bid  them  "  Gooden  daag."  Hans  Coetzee  was  a  very  fa- 
vorable specimen  of  the  better  sort  of  Boer,  and  really  came 
more  or  less  up  to  the  ideal  picture  that  is  so  often  drawn 
of  that  "  simple  pastoral  people."  He  was  a  very  large, 
stout  man,  with  a  fine  open  face  and  a  pair  of  kindly  eyes. 
John,  looking  at  him,  guessed  that  he  could  not  weigh  less 
than  seventeen  stone,  and  he  was  well  within  the  mark  at 
that. 

"  How  are  you,  Captein  ?"  he  said  in  English,  for  he 
could  talk  English  well,  "  and  how  do  you  like  the  Trans- 
vaal ? — must  not  call  it  South  African  Republic  now,  you 
know,  for  that's  treason,"  and  his  eye  twinkled  merrily. 

"  I  like  it  very  much,  meinheer,"  said  John. 

"  Ah,  yes,  it's  a  beautiful  veldt,  especially  about  here — 
no  horse  sickness,  no  '  blue  tongue,'  *  and  a  good  strong 
grass  for  the  cattle.  And  you  must  find  yourself  very 
snug  at  Om  (Uncle)  Croft's  there;  it's  the  nicest  place  in 
the  district,  with  the  ostriches  and  all.  Not  that  I  hold 
with  ostriches  in  this  veldt;  they  are  well  enough  in  the 

*  A  disease  that  is  very  fatal  to  sheep. 


JESS.  71 

Old  Colony,  but  they  won't  breed  here — at  least,  not  as 
they  should  do.  I  tried  them  once  and  I  know;  oh,  yes,  I 
know." 

"Yes,  it's  a  very  fine  country,  meinheer.  I  have  been 
all  over  the  world  almost,  and  I  never  saw  a  finer." 

"You  don't  say  so,  now!  Almighty,  what  a  thing  it  is 
to  have  travelled!  Not  that  I  should  like  to  travel  myself. 
I  think  that  the  Lord  meant  us  to  stop  in  the  place  he  has 
made  for  us.  But  it  is  a  fine  country,  and  "  (dropping  his 
voice)  "I  think  it  is  a  finer  country  than  it  used  to  be." 

"  You  mean  that  the  veldt  has  got  '  tame,'  meinheer." 

"Nay,  nay.  I  mean  that  the  land  is  English  now,"  he 
answered,  mysteriously,  "  and  though  I  dare  not  say  so 
among  my  volk,  I  hope  that  it  will  keep  English.  When 
I  was  Republican,  I  was  Republican,  and  it  was  good  in 
some  ways,  the  republic.  There  was  so  little  to  pay  in 
taxes,  and  we  knew  how  to  manage  the  black  volk;  but 
now  I  am  English,  I  am  English.  I  know  the  English  gov- 
ernment means  good  money  and  safety,  and  if  there  isn't 
a  Raad  (assembly)  now,  well,  what  does  it  matter?  Al- 
mighty, how  they  used  to  talk  there! — clack,  clack,  clack! 
just  like  an  old  black  koran  (species  of  bustard)  at  sunset. 
And  where  did  they  run  the  wagon  of  the  republic  to—- 
Burgers and  those  d d  Hollanders  of  his,  and  the  rest 

of  them?  Why,  into  the  sluit — into  a  sluit  with  peaty 
banks;  and  there  it  would  have  stopped  till  now,  or  till  the 
flood  came  down  and  swept  it  away,  if  old  Shepstone — ah ! 
what  a  tongue  that  man  has,  and  how  fond  he  is  of  the 
kinderchies!  (little  children) — had  not  come  and  pulled  it 
out  again.  But  look  here,  captein,  the  volk  round  here 
don't  think  like  that.  It's  the  '  verdomde  Britische  Gouv- 
ernment '  here  and  the  '  verdomde  Britische  Gouvernment ' 
there,  and  '  bymakaars '  (meetings)  here  and  *  bymakaars ' 
there.  Silly  volk,  they  all  run  one  after  the  other  like 
sheep.  But  there  it  is,  captein,  and  I  tell  you  there  will 
be  fighting  before  long,  and  then  our  people  will  shoot 


72  JESS. 

those  poor  rooibaatjes  (red  jackets)  of  yours  like  buck  and 
take  the  land  back.  Poor  things!  I  could  weep  when  I 
think  of  it." 

•  John  smiled  at  this  melancholy  prognostication,  and 
was  about  to  explain  what  a  poor  show  all  the  Boers  in 
the  Transvaal  would  make  in  front  of  a  few  British  regi- 
ments, when  he  was  astonished  by  a  sudden  change  in  his 
friend's  manner.  Dropping  his  enormous  paw  on  to  his 
shoulder,  Coetzee  broke  into  a  burst  of  somewhat  forced 
merriment,  the  cause  of  which  was,  though  John  did  not 
guess  it  at  the  moment,  that  he  had  just  perceived  Frank 
Muller,  who  was  in  Wakkerstroom  with  a  wagon  -  load 
of  corn  to  grind  at  the  mill,  standing  within  five  yards, 
and  apparently  intensely  interested  in  flipping  at  the  flies 
with  a  cowrie  made  of  the  tail  of  a  vilderbeeste,  but  in  re- 
ality listening  to  Coetzee's  talk  with  all  his  ears. 

"Ha,  ha  !  'nef'"  (nephew),  said  old  Coetzee  to  the  as- 
tonished John,  "  no  wonder  you  like  Mooifontein — there 
are  other  mooi  (pretty)  things  there  besides  the  water. 
How  often  do  you  opsit  (sit  up  at  night)  with  Uncle 
Croft's  pretty  girl,  eh  ?  I'm  not  quite  as  blind  as  an  ant- 
bear  yet.  I  saw  her  blush  when  you  spoke  to  her  just 
now.  I  saw  her.  Well,  well,  it  is  a  pretty  game  for  a 
young  man,  isn't  it, '  nef '  Frank  ?"  (this  was  addressed  to 
Muller).  "  I'll  be  bound  the  captein  here  *  burns  a  long 
candle'  with  pretty  Bessie  every  night — eh,  Frank?  I 
hope  you  ain't  jealous,  '  nef '  ?  my  vrouw  told  me  some 
time  ago  that  you  were  sweet  in  that  direction  yourself;" 
and  he  stopped  at  last,  out  of  breath,  and  looked  anxiously 
towards  Muller  for  an  answer,  while  John,  who  had  been 
somewhat  overwhelmed  at  this  flow  of  bucolic  chaff,  gave 
a  sigh  of  relief.  As  for  Muller,  he  behaved  in  a  curious 
manner.  Instead  of  laughing,  as  the  jolly  old  Boer  had 
intended  that  he  should,  he  had,  although  Coetzee  could 
not  see  it,  been  turning  blacker  and  blacker;  and  now  that 
the  flow  of  language  ceased,  he,  with  a  savage  ejaculation 


JESS.  73 

which  John  could  not  catch,  but  which  he  appeared  to 
throw  at  his  (John's)  head,  turned  on  his  heel  and  went 
off  towards  the  courtyard  of  the  inn. 

"  Almighty!"  said  old  Hans,  wiping  his  face  with  a  red 
cotton  pocket-handkerchief;  "  I  have  put  my  foot  into  a 
big  hole.  That  stink-cat  Muller  heard  all  that  I  was  say- 
ing to  you,  and  I  tell  you  he  will  save  it  up  and  save  it 
up,  and  one  day  he  will  bring  it  all  out  to  the  volk  and 
call  me  a  traitor  to  the  '  land '  and  ruin  me.  I  know 
him.  He  knows  how  to  balance  a  long  stick  on  his  little 
finger  so  that  the  ends  keep  even.  Oh,  yes,  he  can  ride 
two  horses  at  once,  and  blow  hot  and  blow  cold.  He  is  a 
devil  of  a  man,  a  devil  of  a  man  !  And  what  did  he  mean 
by  swearing  at  you  like  that?  Is  it  about  the  missie, 
(girl),  I  wonder?  Almighty  !  who  can  say?  Ah !  that  re- 
minds me — though  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  it  should 
— the  Kaffirs  tell  me  that  there  is  a  big  herd  of  buck — 
vilderbeeste  and  blesbok — on  my  outlying  place  about 
an  hour  and  a  half  (ten  miles)  from  Mooifontein.  Can 
you  hold  a  rifle,  captein  ?  You  look  like  a  bit  of  a 
hunter." 

"Oh,  yes,  meinheer!"  said  John,  delighted  at  the  pros- 
pect of  some  shooting. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so.  All  you  English  are  sportsmen, 
though  you  don't  know  how  to  kill  buck.  Well,  now, 
you  take  Om  Croft's  light  Scotch  cart  and  two  good 
horses,  and  come  over  to  my  place — not  to-morrow,  for 
my  wife's  cousin  is  coming  to  see  us,  and  an  old  cat  she  is, 
but  rich ;  she  had  a  thousand  pounds  in  gold  in  the  wag- 
on-box under  her  bed  —  nor  the  next  day,  for  it  is  the 
Lord's  day,  and  one  can't  shoot  creatures  on  the  Lord's 
day — but  Monday,  yes,  Monday.  You  be  there  by  eight 
o'clock,  and  you  shall  see  how  to  kill  vilderbeeste.  Al- 
mighty !  now  what  can  that  jackal  Frank  Muller  have 
meant  ?  Ah  !  he  is  the  devil  of  a  man,"  and,  shaking 
his  head  ponderously,  the  jolly  old  Boer  departed,  and 


74  JESS. 

presently  John  saw  him  riding  away  upon  a  fat  little 
shooting-pony  that  cannot  have  weighed  much  more  than 
himself,  and  that  yet  cantered  away  with  him  on  his 
fifteen -mile  journey  as  though  he  were  but  a  feather- 
weight. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

's    STOEY. 


SHORTLY  after  the  old  Boer  had  gone,  John  went  into 
the  yard  of  the  hotel  to  see  to  the  inspanning  of  the  Cape 
cart,  when  his  attention  was  at  once  arrested  by  the  sight 
of  a  row  in  active  progress  —  at  least,  from  the  crowd  of 
Kaffirs  and  idlers  and  the  angry  sounds  and  curses  that 
proceeded  from  them,  he  judged  that  it  was  a  row.  Nor 
was  he  wrong  about  it.  In  the  corner  of  the  yard,  close 
by  the  stable-door,  surrounded  by  the  aforesaid  crowd, 
stood  Frank  Muller;  a  heavy  sjambock  in  his  raised  hand 
above  his  head,  as  though  in  the  act  to  strike.  Before 
him,  a  very  picture  of  drunken  fury,  his  lips  drawn  up  like 
a  snarling  dog's,  so  that  the  two  lines  of  his  white  teeth 
gleamed  like  polished  ivory  in  the  sunlight,  his  small  eyes 
all  shot  with  blood,  and  his  face  working  convulsively, 
was  the  Hottentot  Jantje.  Nor  was  this  all.  Across  his 
face  was  a  blue  wheal  where  the  whip  had  fallen,  and  in 
his  hand  a  heavy  white  -  handled  knife  which  he  always 
carried. 

"  Hullo  !  what  is  all  this  ?"  said  John,  shouldering  his 
way  through  the  crowd. 

"The  swartsel  (black  creature)  has  stolen  my  horse's 
forage  and  given  it  to  yours  !"  shouted  Muller,  who  was 
evidently  almost  off  his  head  with  rage,  making  an  at- 
tempt to  hit  Jantje  with  the  whip  as  he  spoke.  The  lat- 
ter avoided  the  blow  by  jumping  behind  John,  with  the 
result  that  the  tip  of  the  sjambock  caught  the  English- 
man on  the  leg. 


76  JESS. 

"  Be  careful,  sir,  with  that  whip,"  said  John  to  Muller, 
restraining  his  temper  with  difficulty.  "Now,  how  do 
you  know  that  the  man  stole  your  horse's  forage;  and 
what  business  have  you  to  touch  him  ?  If  there  was  any- 
thing wrong  you  should  have  reported  it  to  me." 

"  He  lies,  baas,  he  lies !"  yelled  out  the  Hottentot  in 
tremulous,  high-pitched  tones.  "He  lies;  he  has  always 
been  a  liar,  and  worse  than  a  liar.  Yah !  yah  !  I  can  tell 
things  about  him.  The  land  is  English  now,  and  Boers 
can't  kill  the  black  people  as  they  like.  That  man — that 
Boer,  Muller,  he  shot  my  father  and  my  mother — my  father 
first,  then  my  mother;  he  gave  her  two  bullets — she  did 
not  die  the  first  time."  • 

"  You  yellow  devil  !  You  black-skinned,  black-hearted, 
lying  son  of  Satan  !"  roared  the  great  Boer,  his  very  beard 
curling  with  fury.  "Is  that  the  way  you  talk  to  your 
masters?  Out  of  the  light,  rooibaatje"  (soldier) — this 
was  to  John — "  and  I  will  cut  his  tongue  out  of  him.  I'll 
show  him  how  we  deal  with  a  yellow  liar;"  and  without 
further  ado  he  made  a  rush  for  the  Hottentot.  As  he 
came,  John,  whose  blood  was  now  thoroughly  up,  put  out 
his  open  hand,  and,  bending  forward,  pushed  with  all  his 
strength  on  Muller's  advancing  chest.  John  was  a  very 
powerfully  made  man,  though  not  a  very  large  one,  and 
the  push  sent  Muller  staggering  back. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  rooibaatje?"  shouted 
Muller,  his  face  livid  with  fury.  "  Get  out  of  my  road  or 
I  will  mark  that  pretty  face  of  yours.  I  have  some  goods 
to  pay  you  for  as  it  is,  Englishman,  and  I  always  pay  my 
debts.  Out  of  the  path,  curse  you  !"  and  he  again  rushed 
for  the  Hottentot. 

This  time  John,  who  was  now  almost  as  angry  as  his  as- 
sailant, did  not  wait  for  him  to  reach  him,  but,  springing 
forward,  hooked  his  arm  around  Muller's  throat,  and,  be- 
fore he  could  close  with  him,  with  one  tremendous  jerk 
managed  not  only  to  stop  his  wild  career,  but  to  reverse 


JESS.  77 

the  motion,  and  then,  by  interposing  his  foot  with  consid- 
erable neatness,  to  land  him — powerful  man  as  he  was — 
on  his  back  in  a  pool  of  drainage  that  had  collected  from 
the  stable  in  the  hollow  of  the  inn-yard.  Down  he  went 
with  a  splash,  and  amid  a  shout  of  delight  from  the 
crowd,  who  always  like  to  see  an  aggressor  laid  low,  his 
head  bumping  with  considerable  force  against  the  lintel 
of  the  door.  For  a  moment  he  lay  still,  and  John  was 
afraid  that  the  man  was  really  hurt.  Presently,  however, 
he  rose,  and  without  attempting  any  further  hostile  demon- 
stration or  saying  a  single  word,  tramped  off  towards  the 
house,  leaving  his  enemy  to  compose  his  ruffled  nerves 
as  best  he  could.  Now,  John,  like  most  gentlemen,  hated 
a  row  with  all  his  heart,  though  he  had  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tendency  to  go  through  with  it  unflinchingly  when  once 
it  began.  Indeed,  the  whole  thing  irritated  him  almost 
beyond  bearing,  for  he  knew  that  the  story  would  with 
additions  go  the  round  of  the  country-side,  and,  what 
is  more,  that  he  had  made  a  powerful  and  implacable 
enemy. 

"  This  is  all  your  fault,  you  drunken  little  blackguard  !" 
he  said,  turning  savagely  on  the  tottie,  who,  now  that  his 
excitement  had  left  him,  was  snivelling  and  drivelling  in 
an  intoxicated  fashion,  and  calling  him  his  preserver  and 
his  baas  in  maudlin  accents. 

"He  hit  me,  baas;  he  hit  me,  and  I  did  not  take  the 
forage.  He  is  a  bad  man,  Baas  Muller." 

"Be  off  with  you  and  get  the  horses  inspanned;  you 
are  half  drunk,"  he  growled,  and,  having  seen  the  opera- 
tion advancing  to  a  conclusion,  he  went  to  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  hotel,  where  Bessie  was  waiting  in  happy  ig- 
norance of  the  disturbance.  It  was  not  till  they  were 
well  on  their  homeward  way  that  he  told  her  what  had 
passed,  whereat,  remembering  the  scene  she  had  herself 
gone  through  with  Frank  Muller,  and  the  threats  that  he 
had  then  made  use  of,  she  looked  very  grave.  Her  old 


78  JESS. 

uncle,  too,  was  much  put  out  when  he  heard  the  story  on 
their  arrival  home  that  evening. 

"  You  have  made  an  enemy,  Captain  Kiel,"  he  said, 
"  and  a  bad  one.  Not  but  what  you  were  right  to  stand 
up  for  the  Hottentot.  I  would  have  done  as  much  my- 
self had  I  been  there  and  ten  years  younger,  but  Frank 
Muller  is  not  the  man  to  forget  being  put  upon  his  back 
before  a  lot  of  Kaffirs  and  white  folk  too.  Perhaps  that 
Jantje  is  sober  by  now."  This  conversation  took  place 
upon  the  following  morning,  as  they  sat  upon  the  veran- 
da after  breakfast.  "  I  will  go  and  call  him,  and  we  will 
hear  what  this  story  is  about  his  father  and  his  mother." 

Presently  he  returned,  followed  by  the  ragged,  dirty- 
looking  little  Hottentot,  who  took  off  his  hat  and  squatted 
down  on  the  drive,  looking  very  miserable  and  ashamed  of 
himself,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  African  sun,  to  the  effects 
of  which  he  appeared  to  be  totally  impervious. 

"Now,  Jantje,  listen  to  me,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Yes- 
terday you  got  drunk  again.  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  talk 
about  that  now,  except  to  say  that  if  I  find  or  hear  of 
your  being  drunk  once  more — you  leave  this  place." 

"  Yes,  baas,"  said  the  Hottentot,  meekly.  "  I  was 
drunk,  though  not  very;  I  only  had  half  a  bottle  of  Cape 
Smoke." 

"  By  getting  drunk  you  made  a  quarrel  with  Baas  Mul- 
ler, so  that  blows  passed  between  Baas  Muller  and  the 
baas  here  on  your  account,  which  was  more  than  you  are 
worth.  Now  when  Baas  Muller  had  struck  you,  you  said 
that  he  had  shot  your  father  and  your  mother.  Was  that 
a  lie,  or  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  it  ?" 

"It  was  no  lie,  baas,"  said  the  Hottentot,  excitedly. 
"I  have  said  it  once,  and  I  will  say  it  again.  Listen, 
baas,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  story.  When  I  was  young, 
so  high  " — and  he  held  his  hand  high  enough  to  indicate 
a  tottie  of  about  fourteen  years  of  age — "  we,  that  is,  my 
father,  my  mother,  my  uncle — a  very  old  man,  older  than  the 


JESS.  79 

baas  "  (pointing  to  Silas  Croft) — "  were  bijwoners  (author- 
ized squatters)  on  a  place  belonging  to  old  Jacob  Muller, 
Baas  Frank's  father,  down  in  Lydenburg  yonder.  It  was 
a  bush-veldt  farm,  and  old  Jacob  used  to  come  down  there 
with  his  cattle  from  the  High  veldt  in  the  winter  when 
there  was  no  grass  in  the  High  veldt,  and  with  him  came 
the  Englishwoman,  his  wife,  and  the  young  Baas  Frank — 
the  baas  we  saw  yesterday." 

"  How  long  ago  was  all  this  ?"  asked  Mr.  Croft. 

Jantje  counted  on  his  fingers  for  some  seconds,  and 
then  held  up  his  hand  and  opened  it  four  times  in  succes- 
sion. "  So,"  he  said,  "  twenty  years  last  winter.  Baas 
Frank  was  young  then,  he  had  only  a  little  down  upon 
his  chin.  One  year,  when  Om  Jacob  went  away,  after  the 
first  rains,  he  left  six  oxen  that  were  too  poor  (thin)  to  go, 
with  my  father,  and  told  him  to  look  after  them  as  though 
they  were,  his  children.  But  the  oxen  were  bewitched. 
Three  of  them  took  the  lungsick  and  died,  a  lion  got  one, 
a  snake  killed  one,  and  one  ate  '  tulip '  and  died  too.  So 
when  Om  Jacob  came  back  the  next  year  all  the  oxen 
were  gone.  He  was  very  angry  with  my  father,  and  beat 
him  with  a  yoke-strap  till  he  was  all  blood,  and  though 
we  showed  him  the  bones  of  the  oxen,  he  said  that  we  had 
stolen  them,  and  sold  them. 

"  Now,  Om  Jacob  had  a  beautiful  span  of  black  oxen 
that  he  loved  like  children.  Sixteen  of  them  were  there, 
and  they  would  come  up  to  the  yoke  when  he  called  them 
and  put  down  their  heads  of  themselves.  They  were 
tame  as  dogs.  These  oxen  were  thin  when  they  came 
down,  but  in  two  months  they  got  fat  and  began  to  want 
to  trek  about  as  oxen  do.  At  this  time  there  was  a  Basu- 
tu,  one  of  Sequati's  people,  resting  in  our  hut,  for  he  had 
hurt  his  foot  with  a  thorn.  When  Om  Jacob  found  that 
the  Basutu  was  there  he  was  very  angry,  for  he  said  that 
all  Basutus  were  thieves.  So  my  father  told  the  Basutu 
that  the  baas  said  that  he  must  go  away,  and  he  went 


80  JESS. 

that  night.  Kext  morning  the  span  of  black  oxen  were 
gone  too.  The  kraal-gate  was  down,  and  they  had  gone. 
We  hunted  all  day,  but  we  could  not  find  them.  Then 
Om  Jacob  got  mad  with  rage,  and  the  young  Baas  Frank 
told  him  that  one  of  the  Kaffir  boys  had  said  to  him  that 
he  had  heard  my  father  sell  them  to  the  Basutu  for  sheep 
which  he  was  to  pay  to  us  in  the  summer.  It  was  a  lie, 
but  Baas  Frank  hated  my  father  because  of  something 
about  a  woman — a  Zulu  girl.  Next  morning,  when  we 
were  asleep,  just  at  daybreak,  Om  Jacob  Muller  and  Baas 
Frank  and  two  Kaffirs  came  into  the  hut  and  pulled  us 
out,  the  old  man  my  uncle,  my  father,  my  mother,  and 
myself,  and  tied  us  up  to  four  mimosa-trees,  with  buffalo 
reims.  Then  the  Kaffirs  went  away,  and  Om  Jacob  asked 
my  father  where  the  cattle  were,  and  my  father  told  him 
that  he  did  not  know.  Then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  said 
a  prayer  to  the  Big  Man  in  the  sky,  and  when  he  had 
done  Baas  Frank  came  up  with  a  gun,  and  stood  quite 
close  and  shot  my  father  dead,  and  he  fell  forward  and 
hung  quiet  over  the  reim,  his  head  touching  his  feet. 
Then  he  loaded  the  gun  again  and  shot  the  old  man,  my 
uncle,  and  he  slipped  down  dead,  and  his  hands  stuck  up 
in  the  air  against  the  reim.  Next  he  shot  my  mother, 
but  the  bullet  did  not  kill  her,  and  cut  the  reim,  and  she 
ran  away,  and  he  ran  after  her  and  killed  her.  When  that 
was  done  he  came  back  to  shoot  me;  but  I  was  young 
then,  and  did  not  know  that  it  is  better  to  be  dead  than 
to  live  like  a  dog,  and  I  begged  and  prayed  for  mercy 
while  he  was  loading  the  gun. 

"  But  the  baas  only  laughed,  and  said  he  would  teach 
Hottentots  how  to  steal  cattle,  and  old  Om  Jacob  prayed 
out  loud  to  the  Big  Man  and  said  he  was  very  sorry  for 
me,  but  it  was  the  dear  Lord's  will.  And  then,  just  as 
Baas  Frank  lifted  the  gun,  he  dropped  it  again,  for  there, 
coming  softly,  softly  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  in  and  out 
between  the  bushes,  were  all  the  sixteen  oxen  !  They  had 


JESS.  81 

got  out  in  the  night  and  strayed  away  into  some  kloof  for 
a  change  of  pasture,  and  come  back  when  they  were  full 
and  tired  of  being  alone.  Om  Jacob  turned  quite  white 
and  scratched  his  head,  and  then  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
thanked  the  dear  Lord  for  saving  my  life;  and  just  then 
the  Englishwoman,  Baas  Frank's  mother,  came  down  from 
the  .wagon  to  see  what  the  firing  was  at,  and  when  she 
saw  all  the  people  dead  and  me  weeping,  tied  to  the  tree, 
and  learned  what  it  was  about,  she  went  quite  mad,  for 
sometimes  she  had  a  kind  heart  when  she  was  not  drunk, 
and  said  that  a  curse  would  fall  on  them,  and  that  they 
would  all  die  in  blood.  And  she  took  a  knife  and  cut  me 
loose,  though  Baas  Frank  wanted  to  kill  me,  so  that  I  might 
tell  no  tales;  and  I  ran  away,  travelling  by  night  and  hid- 
ing by  day,  for  I  was  very  much  frightened,  till  I  got  to  Na- 
tal, and  there  I  stopped,  working  in  Natal  till  the  land  be- 
came English,  when  Baas  Croft  hired  me  to  drive  his  cart 
up  from  Maritzburg;  and  living  by  here  I  found  Baas  Frank, 
looking  bigger  but  just  the  same  except  for  his  beard. 

"  There,  baas,  that  is  the  truth,  and  all  the  truth,  and 
that  is  why  I  hate  Baas  Frank,  because  he  shot  my  father 
and  mother,  and  why  Baas  Frank  hates  me,  because  he 
cannot  forget  that  he  did  it  and  I  saw  him  do  it,  for,  as 
our  people  say, '  one  always  hates  a  man  one  has  wounded 
with  a  spear;' "  and  having  finished  his  narrative,  the  mis- 
erable-looking little  man  picked  up  his  greasy  old  felt  hat, 
that  had  a  leather  strap  fixed  round  the  crown,  in  which 
were  stuck  a  couple  of  frayed  ostrich  feathers,  and  jammed 
it  down  over  his  ears,  and  then  fell  to  drawing  circles  on 
the  soil  with  his  long  toes.  His  auditors  only  looked  at 
one  another.  Such  a  ghastly  tale  seemed  to  be  beyond 
comment.  They  never  doubted  its  truth;  the  man's  way 
of  telling  it  carried  conviction  with  it.  And,  indeed,  two 
of  them  at  any  rate  had  heard  such  stories  before.  Most 
people  have  who  live  in  the  wilder  parts  of  South  Africa, 
though  they  are  not  all  to  be  taken  for  gospel. 
6 


82  JESS. 

"  You  say,"  remarked  old  Silas,  at  last,  "  that  the  wom- 
an said  that  a  curse  would  fall  on  them  and  that  they 
would  die  in  blood  ?  She  was  right.  Twelve  years  ago 
Om  Jacob  and  his  wife  were  murdered  by  a  party  of  Ma- 
poch's  Kaffirs,  down  on  the  edge  of  that  very  Lydenburg 
veldt.  There  was  a  great  noise  about  it  at  the  time,  I  re- 
member, but  nothing  came  of  it.  Baas  Frank  was  not  there. 
He  was  away  shooting  buck ;  so  he  escaped,  and  inherited 
all  his  father's  farms  and  cattle,  and  came  to  live  here." 

"  So,"  said  the  Hottentot,  without  showing  the  slightest 
interest  or  surprise.  "  I  knew  it  would  be  so,  but  I  wish 
I  had  been  there  to  see  it.  I  saw  that  there  was  a  devil 
in  the  woman,  and  that  they  would  die  as  she  said.  When 
there  is  a  devil  in  people  they  always  speak  the  truth,  be- 
cause they  can't  help  it.  Look,  baas,  I  draw  a  circle  in 
the  sand  with  my  foot,  and  I  say  some  words  so,  and  at 
last  the  ends  touch.  There,  that  is  the  circle  of  Om  Jacob 
and  his  wife  the  Englishwoman.  The  ends  have  touched 
and  they  are  dead.  An  old  witch-doctor  taught  me  how 
to  draw  the  circle  of  a  man's  life  and  what  words  to  say. 
And  now  I  draw  another  of  Baas  Frank.  Ah  !  there  is  a 
stone  sticking  up  in  the  way.  The  ends  will  not  touch. 
But  now  I  work  and  work  and  work  with  my  foot,  and 
say  the  words  and  say  the  words,  and  so — the  stone  comes 
up  and  the  ends  touch  now.  So  it  is  with  Baas  Frank. 
One  day  the  stone  will  come  up  and  the  ends  will  touch, 
and  he  too  will  die  in  blood.  The  devil  in  the  English- 
woman said  so,  and  devils  cannot  lie  or  speak  half  the 
truth  only.  And  now,  look,  I  rub  my  foot  over  the  cir- 
cles and  they  are  gone,  and  there  is  only  the  path  again. 
That  means  that  when  they  have  died  in  blood  they  will 
be  quite  forgotten  and  stamped  out.  Even  their  graves  will 
be  flat,"  and  he  wrinkled  up  his  yellow  face  into  a  smile, 
or  rather  a  grin,  and  then  added,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way, 

"  Does  the  baas  wish  the  gray  mare  to  have  one  bundle 
of  green  forage,  or  two  ?" 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHN   HAS   AN   ESCAPE. 

ON  the  following  Monday,  John,  taking  Jantje  to  drive 
him,  departed  in  a  rough  Scotch  cart,  to  which  were  har- 
nessed two  of  the  best  horses  at  Mooifontein,  to  shoot  buck 
at  Hans  Coetzee's. 

He  reached  the  place  at  about  half-past  eight,  and  con- 
cluded, from  the  fact  of  the  presence  of  several  carts  and 
horses,  that  he  was  not  the  only  guest.  Indeed,  the  first 
person  that  he  saw  as  the  cart  pulled  up  was  his  late  ene- 
my, Frank  Muller. 

"Kek  (look),  baas,"  said  Jantj6,  "there  is  Baas  Frank 
talking  to  a  Basutu  !" 

John  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  not  best  pleased  at  this 
meeting.  He  had  always  disliked  the  man,  and  since  Mul- 
ler's  conduct  on  the  previous  Friday,  and  Jantje's  story  of 
the  dark  deed  of  blood  in  which  he  had  been  the  principal 
actor,  he  positively  loathed  the  sight  of  him.  He  got  out 
of  the  cart,  and  was  going  to  walk  round  to  the  back  of 
the  house  in  order  to  avoid  him,  when  Muller,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, suddenly  became  aware  of  his  presence,  and  ad- 
vanced to  meet  him  with  the  utmost  cordiality. 

"How  do  you  do,  captain?"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand,  which  John  just  touched.  "So  you  have  come  to 
shoot  buck  with  Om  Coetzee ;  going  to  show  us  Trans- 
vaalers  how  to  do  it,  eh  ?  There,  captain,  don't  look  as 
stiff  as  a  rifle-barrel.  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of  : 
that  little  business  at  Wakkerstroom  on  Friday,  is  it  not  ? 
Well,  now,  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I  was  in  the  wrong,  and  I 


84  JESS. 

ain't  afraid  to  say  so  as  between  man  and  man.  I  had  had 
a  glass,  that  was  the  fact,  and  did  not  quite  know  what  I 
was  about.  We  have  got  to  live  as  neighbors  here,  so 
let  us  forget  all  about  it  and  be  brothers  again.  I  never 
bear  malice,  not  I.  It  is  not  the  Lord's  will  that  we  should 
bear  malice.  Hit  out  from  the  shoulder,  I  say,  and  then 
forget  all  about  it.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  little  mon- 
key," he  added,  jerking  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of 
Jantje,  who  was  holding  the  horses'  heads, "  it  would  never 
have  happened,  and  it  is  not  nice  that  two  Christians  should 
quarrel  about  such  as  he." 

Muller  jerked  out  this  long  speech  in  a  succession  of 
sentences,  something  as  a  schoolboy  repeats  a  hardly 
learned  lesson,  fidgeting  his  feet  and  letting  his  restless 
eyes  travel  about  the  ground  as  he  did  so  ;  and  it  was  evi- 
dent to  John,  who  stood  quite  still  and  listened  to  it  in  icy 
silence,  that  it  was  by  no  means  an  extemporary  one.  It 
had  too  clearly  been  composed  for  the  occasion. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  anybody,  Meinheer  Mul- 
ler," he  answered,  at  length.  "  I  never  do  quarrel  unless  it 
is  forced  on  me,  and  then,"  he  added,  grimly,  "  I  do  my 
best  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  my  enemy.  The  other  day 
you  attacked  first  my  servant  and  then  myself.  I  am  glad 
that  you  now  see  that  this  was  an  improper  thing  to  do, 
and,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there  is  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter," and  he  turned  to  enter  the  house. 

Muller  accompanied  him  as  far  as  where  Jantj6  was 
standing  at  the  horses'  heads.  Here  he  stopped,  and, 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  took  out  a  two-shilling 
piece  and  threw  it  to  the  Hottentot,  calling  to  him  to 
catch  it. 

Jantje  was  holding  the  horses  with  one  hand.  In  the 
other  he  held  his  stick — a  long  walking  kerrie  that  he  al- 
ways carried,  the  same  on  which  he  had  shown  Bessie  the 
notches.  In  order  to  catch  the  piece  of  money  he  dropped 
the  stick,  and  Muller's  quick  eye  catching  sight  of  the 


JESS.  85 

notches  beneath  the  knob,  he  stooped  down,  picked  it  up, 
and  examined  it. 

"  What  do  these  mean,  boy  ?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 
line  of  big  and  little  notches,  some  of  which  had  evidently 
been  cut  years  ago. 

Jantje  touched  his  hat,  spat  upon  the  "  Scotchman,"  as 
the  natives  of  that  part  of  Africa  call  a  two-shilling  piece,* 
and  pocketed  it  before  he  answered.  The  fact  that  the 
giver  had  murdered  all  his  near  relations  did  not  make  the 
gift  less  desirable  in  his  eyes.  Hottentot  moral  sense  is 
not  very  elevated. 

"  No,  baas,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  grin,  "  that  is  how  I 
reckon.  If  anybody  beats  Jantje,  Jantje"  cuts  a  notch  upon 
the  stick,  and  every  night  before  he  goes  to  sleep  he  looks 
at  it  and  says, '  One  day  you  will  strike  that  man  twice 
who  struck  you  once,'  and  so  on,  baas.  Look  what  a  line 
of  them  there  are,  baas.  One  day  I  shall  pay  them  all 
back  again,  Baas  Frank." 

Muller  abruptly  dropped  the  stick,  and  followed  John 
towards  the  house.  It  was  a  much  better  building  than 
the  Boers  generally  indulge  in,  and  the  sitting-room, 
though  innocent  of  flooring  —  unless  clay  and  cowdung 
mixed  can  be  called  a  floor  —  was  more  or  less  covered 
with  mats  made  of  springbuck  skins.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  a  table  made  of  the  pretty  "  buckenhout "  wood, 
which  has  the  appearance  of  having  been  industriously 
pricked  all  over  with  a  darning  -  needle,  and  round  it  were 
chairs  and  couches  made  of  stinkwood,  and  seated  with 
rimpis  or  strips  of  hide. 

In  one  big  chair  at  the  end  of  the  room,  busily  em- 
ployed in  doing  nothing,  sat  Tanta  (Aunt)  Coetzee,  the 
wife  of  Old  Hans,  a  large  and  weighty  woman,  who  had 
evidently  once  been  rather  handsome ;  and  on  the  couches 

*  Because  once  upon  a  time  a  Scotchman  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
simple  native  mind  in  Natal  by  palming  off  some  thousands  of  florins 
among  them  at  the  nominal  value  of  half  a  crown. 


86  JESS. 

were  some  half  -  dozen  Boers,  their  rifles  in  their  hands  or 
between  their  knees. 

It  struck  John  as  he  entered  that  some  of  these  did  not 
look  best  pleased  to  see  him,  and  he  thought  he  heard  one 
young  fellow,  with  a  hang-dog  expression  of  face,  mutter 
something  about  the  "  damned  Englishman  "  to  his  neigh- 
bor rather  more  loudly  than  was  necessary  to  convey  his 
sentiments.  However,  old  Coetzee  came  forward  to  greet 
him  heartily  enough,  and  called  to  his  daughters — two  fine 
girls,  very  smartly  dressed  for  Dutchwomen — to  give  the 
captain  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then  John  made  the  rounds  af- 
ter the  Boer  fashion,  and,  beginning  with  the  old  lady  in 
the  chair,  received  a  lymphatic  shake  of  the  hand  from 
every  single  soul  in  the  room.  They  did  not  rise  —  it  is 
not  customary  to  do  so — they  merely  extended  their  paws, 
all  of  them  more  or  less  damp,  and  uttered  the  mystic 
monosyllable  "Daag,"  short  for  good-day.  It  is  a  very 
trying  ceremony  till  one  gets  used  to  it,  and  John  pulled 
up  panting,  to  be  presented  with  a  cup  of  coffee  that  he 
did  not  want,  but  which  it  would  be  rude  not  to  drink. 

"  The  captain  is  a  rooibaatje  ?"  said"  the  old  lady, "  Aunt " 
Coetzee,  interrogatively,  and  yet  with  the  certainty  of  one 
who  states  a  fact. 

John  signified  that  he  was. 

"  What  does  the  captain  come  to  the  '  land '  for  ?  Is  it 
to  spy  ?" 

The  whole  room  listened  attentively  to  their  hostess's 
question,  and  then  turned  their  heads  to  listen  for  the 
answer. 

"  No.     I  have  come  to  farm  with  Silas  Croft." 

There  was  a  general  smile  of  incredulity.  Could  a 
rooibaatje  farm?  Certainly  not. 

"  There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army," 
announced  the  old  vrouw,  oracularly,  and  casting  a  severe 
glance  at  the  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  the  man  of  blood 
who  pretended  to  farm. 


JESS.  87 

Everybody  looked  at  John  again,  and  awaited  his  answer 
in  dead  silence. 

"  There  are  nearly  three  hundred  thousand  men  in  the 
regular  British  army,  and  as  many  more  in  the  Indian 
army,  and  twice  as  many  more  volunteers,"  he  said,  in  a 
rather  irritated  voice. 

This  statement  also  was  received  with  the  most  discour- 
aging incredulity. 

"  There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army,"  re- 
peated the  old  lady,  in  a  tone  of  certainty  that  was  posi- 
tively crushing. 

"  Yah,  yah  !"  chimed  in  some  of  the  younger  men  in 
chorus. 

"There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army," 
she  repeated,  for  the  third  time,  in  triumph.  "  If  the  cap- 
tain says  that  there  are  more  he  lies.  It  is  natural  that  he 
should  lie  about  his  own  army.  My  grandfather's  brother 
was  at  Cape  Town  in  the  time  of  Governor  Smith,  and  he 
saw  the  whole  British  army.  He  counted  them  ;  there 
were  exactly  three  thousand.  I  say  that  there  are  three 
thousand  men  in  the  British  army." 

"Yah,  yah  !"  said  the  chorus  ;  and  John  gazed  at  this 
terrible  person  in  bland  exasperation. 

"  How  many  men  do  you  command  in  the  British  army  ?" 
she  interrogated,  after  a  solemn  pause. 

"  A  hundred,"  said  John,  sharply. 

"  Girl,"  said  the  old  woman,  addressing  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters, "  you  have  been  to  school  and  can  reckon.  How  many 
times  does  one  hundred  go  into  three  thousand  ?" 

The  young  lady  addressed  giggled  confusedly,  and  looked 
for  assistance  to  a  sardonic  young  Boer  whom  she  was 
going  to  marry,  who  shook  his  head  sadly,  indicating 
thereby  that  these  were  mysteries  into  which  it  was  not 
well  to  pry.  Thrown  on  her  own  resources,  the  young 
lady  plunged  into  the  recesses  of  an  intricate  calculation, 
in  which  her  fingers  played  a  considerable  part,  and  final- 


88  JESS. 

ly,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  announced  that  it  went  twenty- 
six  times  exactly. 

"  Yah,  yah  !"  said  the  chorus,  "  it  goes  twenty-six  times 
exactly." 

"The  captain,"  said  the  oracular  old  lady,  who  was 
rapidly  driving  John  mad,  "commands  a  twenty-sixth 
part  of  the  British  army,  and  he  says  that  he  comes  here 
to  farm  with  Uncle  Silas  Croft.  He  says,"  she  went  on, 
with  withering  contempt, "  that  he  comes  here  to  farm 
when  he  commands  a  twenty-sixth  part  of  the  British 
army.  It  is  evident  that  he  lies." 

"  Yah,  yah  !"  said  the  chorus. 

"  It  is  natural  that  he  should  lie  !"  she  continued  ;  "  all 
Englishmen  lie,  especially  the  rooibaatje  Englishman,  but 
he  should  not  lie  so  badly.  It  must  vex  the  dear  Lord  to 
hear  a  man  lie  so  badly,  even  though  he  be  an  Englishman 
and  a  rooibaatje." 

At  this  point  John  burst  from  the  house,  and  swore 
frantically  to  himself  as  soon  as  he  got  outside  ;  and,  real- 
ly, it  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  was  forgiven,  for  the  provoca- 
tion was  not  small.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  universally 
set  down  as  a  "  leugenaar  "  (liar),  even  as  one  of  the  very 
feeblest  order. 

In  another  minute  old  Hans  Coetzee  came  out  and  patted 
him  warmly  on  the  shoulder,  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  say 
that,  whatever  others  might  think  of  the  insufficiency  of  his 
powers  of  falsehood,  he,  for  one,  quite  appreciated  them, 
and  announced  that  it  was  time  to  be  moving. 

Accordingly  the  whole  party  got  into  their  carts  or  on 
to  their  shooting-horses,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  started. 
Frank  Muller  was,  John  noticed,  mounted  as  usual  on  his 
fine  black  horse.  After  driving  for  more  than  half  an  hour 
along  an  indefinite  kind  of  wagon  track,  the  leading  cart, 
in  which  was  old  Hans  Coetzee  himself,  a  Malay  driver, 
and  a  colored  Cape  boy,  turned  to  the  left  across  the  open 
yeldt?  and  the  others  followed  in  turn.  This  went  on  for 


JESS.  89 

some  time,  till  at  last  they  reached  the  crest  of  a  rise  that 
commanded  a  large  sweep  of  open  country,  and  here  Hans 
halted  and  held  np  his  hand,  whereon  the  others  halted  too. 
On  looking  out  over  the  vast  plain  before  him  John  dis- 
covered the  reason.  About  half  a  mile  beneath  them  was 
a  great  herd  of  blesbuck  feeding,  three  hundred  or  more  of 
them,  and  beyond  them  again  another  herd  of  some  sixty 
or  seventy  much  larger  and  wilder  -  looking  animals  with 
white  tails,  which  John  at  once  recognized  as  vilderbeeste. 
Nearer  to  them  again,  dotted  about  here  and  there  on 
the  plain,  were  a  couple  of  dozen  or  so  of  graceful  yellow 
springbuck. 

Then  a  council  of  war  was  held,  which  resulted  in  the 
men  on  horseback — among  whom  was  Frank  Muller — be- 
ing despatched  to  circumvent  the  herds  and  drive  them 
towards  the  carts,  that  took  up  their  stations  at  various 
points  towards  which  the  buck  were  likely  to  make. 

Then  came  a  pause  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  till  sud- 
denly, from  the  far  ridge  of  the  opposite  slope,  John  saw  a 
couple  of  puffs  of  white  smoke  float  up  into  the  air,  and 
one  of  the  vilderbeeste  below  roll  over  on  his  back,  kicking 
and  plunging  furiously.  Thereon  the  whole  herd  of  buck 
turned  and  came  thundering  towards  them,  stretched  in  a 
long  line  across  the  wide  veldt ;  the  springbuck  first,  then 
the  blesbuck,  looking,  owing  to  their  peculiar  way  of  hold- 
ing their  long  heads  down  as  they  galloped,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  herd  of  great  bearded  goats.  Behind  and 
mixed  up  with  them  were  the  vilderbeeste,  who  twisted 
and  turned,  and  jumped  into  the  air  as  though  they  had 
gone  clean  off  their  heads  and  were  next  second  going  clean 
on  to  them.  It  is  very  difficult,  owing  to  his  extraordinary 
method  of  progression,  to  distinguish  one  part  of  a  gallop- 
ing vilderbeeste  from  another  ;  now  it  is  his  horns,  now  his 
tail,  and  now  his  hoofs  that  present  themselves  to  the 
watcher's  bewildered  vision,  and  now  again  they  all  seem  to 
be  mixed  up  together.  On  came  the  great  herd,  making 


90  JESS. 

the  ground  shake  beneath  their  footfall ;  and  after  them 
galloped  the  mounted  Boers,  every  now  and  again  jump- 
ing from  their  horses  to  fire  a  shot  into  the  line  of  game, 
which  generally  resulted  in  some  poor  animal  being  left 
sprawling  on  the  ground,  whereon  the  sportsmen  would 
remount  and  continue  the  chase. 

Presently  the  buck  were  within  range  of  some  of  the 
guns  in  the  carts,  and  a  regular  fusillade  began.  About 
twenty  blesbuck  turned  and  came  past  John,  within  forty 
yards  of  him.  Springing  to  the  ground,  he  fired  both  bar- 
rels of  his  "  express  "  at  them  as  they  tore  past — alas  and 
alas  !  without  touching  them.  The  first  bullet  struck  un- 
der their  bellies,  the  second  must  have  shaved  their  backs. 
Reloading  rapidly,  he  fired  again  at  about  two  hundred 
yards'  range,  and  this  time  one  fell  to  his  second  barrel. 
But  he  knew  that  it  was  a  chance  shot ;  he  had  fired  at 
the  last  buck,  and  he  had  killed  one  ten  paces  in  front  of 
him.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  this  sort  of  shooting 
is  exceedingly  difficult  till  one  knows  how  to  do  it.  The 
inexperienced  hand  firing  across  a  line  of  buck  will  not 
generally  kill  one  shot  in  twenty,  as  an  infinitesimal  dif- 
ference in  elevation,  or  the  slightest  error  in  judging  dis- 
tance— in  itself  a  most  difficult  art  on  those  great  plains — 
will  make  the  difference.  A  Boer  almost  invariably  gets 
immediately  behind  a  herd  of  running  buck,  and  fires  at 
one  about  half-way  down  the  line.  Consequently,  if  his 
elevation  is  a  little  wrong,  or  if  he  has  misjudged  his  sight- 
ing, the  odds  are  that  he  will  hit  one  either  in  front  of  or 
behind  the  particular  animal  fired  at.  All  that  is  necessary 
is  that  the  line  of  fire  should  be  good.  This  John  soon 
learned,  and  when  he  had  mastered  the  fact  he  became  as 
good  a  game  shot  as  the  majority  of  Boers,  but  to-day  be- 
ing his  first,  he  did  not,  much  to  his  vexation,  particularly 
distinguish  himself,  the  result  of  which  was  that  his  friends 
the  Dutchmen  went  away  firmly  convinced  that  the  Eng- 
lish ropibaatje  shot  as  indifferently  as  he  lied, 


JESS.  91 

Jumping  into  the  cart  again,  and  leaving  the  dead  bles- 
buck  to  look  after  itself  for  the  present — not  a  very  safe 
thing  to  do  in  a  country  where  there  are  so  many  vultures 
— John,  or  rather  Jantje,  put  the  horses  into  a  gallop,  and 
away  they  went  at  full  tear.  It  was  a  most  exciting  mode 
of  progression,  bumping  along  furiously  with  a  loaded 
rifle  in  his  hands  over  a  plain  on  which  antheaps  as  large 
as  an  arm-chair  were  scattered  like  burned  almonds  on  a 
cake.  Then  there  were  the  antbear  holes  to  reckon  with, 
and  the  little  swamps  in  the  hollows,  and  other  agreeable 
surprises.  But  the  rush  and  exhilaration  of  the  thing  was 
too  great  to  allow  him  much  time  to  think  of  his  neck,  so 
away  they  flew,  sticking  on  to  the  cart  as  best  they  could, 
and  trusting  to  Providence  to  save  them  from  a  complete 
smash-up.  Now  they  were  bounding  over  an  antheap, 
now  one  of  the  horses  was  on  his  nose,  but  somehow  they 
always  escaped  the  last  dire  disaster,  thanks  chiefly  to  the 
little  Hottentot's  skilful  driving.  Every  few  minutes  or 
so  they  would  pull  up  whenever  the  game  was  within 
range,  and  John  would  spring  from  the  cart  and  let  drive, 
and  then  jump  in  and  follow  on  again.  This  went  on  for 
nearly  an  hour,  in  which  time  he  had  fired  twenty-seven 
cartridges  and  killed  three  blesbuck  and  wounded  a  vilder- 
beeste,  which  they  proceeded  to  chase.  But  the  vilder- 
beeste  was  struck  in  the  rump,  and  a  buck  so  wounded 
will  go  a  long  way,  and  go  very  fast  also,  and  some  miles 
of  ground  had  been  got  over  before  he  began  to  rest,  only 
starting  on  again  as  they  drew  near.  At  last,  on  crossing 
the  crest  of  a  little  rise,  John  saw  what  at  first  he  took  to 
be  his  vilderbeeste  dead.  A  second  look,  however,  showed 
him  that,  although  it  was  a  dead  vilderbeeste,  it  most  un- 
doubtedly was  not  the  one  that  he  had  wounded,  for  that 
was  standing,  its  head  hanging  down,  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  yards  beyond  the  other  animal,  which  had,  no 
doubt,  fallen  to  somebody  else's  rifle,  or  else  been  wounded 
farther  back  and  come  here  to  die.  Now  the  vilderbeeste 


92  JESS. 

lay  within  a  hundred  yards  of  them,  and  Jantje  pointed 
out  to  John  that  his  best  plan  would  be  to  get  out  of  the 
cart  and  creep  on  his  hands  and  knees  up  to  the  dead 
animal,  from  the  cover  of  which  he  would  get  a  good  shot 
at  his  own  wounded  bull. 

Accordingly,  Jantje  having  withdrawn  with  the  cart  and 
horses  out  of  sight  under  the  shelter  of  the- rise,  John 
crouched  upon  his  hands  and  knees  and  proceeded  to  carry 
out  his  stalk.  He  got  on  all  right  till  he  was  quite  close  to 
the  dead  cow,  and  was  just  congratulating  himself  on  the 
prospect  of  an  excellent  shot  at  the  wounded  bull,  when 
suddenly  something  struck  the  ground  violently  just  be- 
neath his  stomach,  throwing  up  a  cloud  of  earth  and  dust. 
He  stopped  amazed,  and  as  he  did  so  heard  the  report  of 
a  rifle  somewhat  to  his  right.  It  was  a  rifle  bullet  that 
had  passed  beneath  him.  Scarcely  had  he  realized  this 
when  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  his  hair,  and  the 
soft  black  felt  hat  that  he  was  wearing  started  from  his 
head,  apparently  of  its  own  accord,  and,  after  twirling 
round  twice  or  thrice  in  the  air,  fell  gently  to  the  earth, 
and  as  it  did  so  the  sound  of  a  second  report  reached  his 
ears.  It  was  now  evident  that  somebody  was  firing  at 
him  ;  so,  jumping  up  from  his  crouching  position,  he 
tossed  his  arms  into  the  air  and  sprang  and  shouted  in  a 
way  that  left  no  mistake  as  to  his  whereabouts.  In  an- 
other minute  he  saw  a  man  on  horseback,  cantering  easily 
towards  him,  in  whom  he  had  little  difficulty  in  recogniz- 
ing Frank  Muller.  He  went  and  picked  up  his  hat;  there 
was  a  bullet-hole  right  through  it.  Then,  full  of  wrath, 
he  advanced  to  meet  Frank  Muller. 

"  What  the did  you  mean  by  firing  at  me  ?"  he 

asked. 

"  Allemachter,  Carle!"  (Almighty,  my  dear  fellow)  was 
the  cool  answer,  "I  thought  that  you  were  a  vilderbeeste 
calf.  I  galloped  the  cow  and  killed  her,  and  she  had  a  calf 
with  her,  and  when  I  got  the  cartridges  out  of  my  rifle — for 


JESS.  93 

one  stuck  and  took  me  some  time — and  the  new  ones  in,  I 
looked  up,  and  there,  as  I  thought,  was  the  calf.  So  I  got 
my  rifle  on  and  let  drive,  first  with  one  barrel  and  then 
with  the  other,  and  when  I  saw  you  jump  up  like  that  and 
shout,  and  that  I  had  been  firing  at  a  man,  I  nearly  fainted. 
Thank  the  Almighty  I  did  not  hit  you." 

John  listened  coldly.  "I  suppose  that  I  am  bound  to 
believe  you,  Meinheer  Muller,"  he  said.  "  But  I  have  been 
told  that  you  have  the  most  wonderful  sight  of  any  man 
in  these  parts,  which  makes  it  odd  that  at  three  hundred 
yards  you  should  mistake  a  man  upon  his  hands  and  knees 
for  a  vilderbeeste  calf." 

"  Does  the  captain  think,  then,  that  I  wished  to  murder 
him;  especially,"  he  added,  "after  I  took  his  hand  this 
morning  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  think,"  answered  John,  looking 
straight  into  Muller's  eyes,  which  fell  before  his  own. 
"  All  I  know  is  that  your  curious  mistake  very  nearly  cost 
me  my  life.  Look  here!"  and  he  took  a  lock  of  his  brown 
hair  out  of  the  crown  of  his  perforated  hat  and  showed  it 
to  the  other. 

"Ay,  it  was  very  close.  Let  us  thank  God  that  you 
escaped." 

"  It  could  not  well  have  been  closer,  meinheer.  I  hope 
that,  both  for  your  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  the  people 
who  go  out  shooting  with  you,  you  will  not  make  such  a 
mistake  again.  Good-morning." 

The  handsome  Boer,  or  Anglo-Boer,  sat  on  his  horse 
stroking  his  beautiful  beard  and  gazing  curiously  after 
John  Niel's  sturdy,  English-looking  figure  as  he  marched 
towards  the  cart  (for,  of  course,  the  wounded  vilderbeeste 
had  long  ago  vanished). 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself  aloud,  as  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  and  rode  leisurely  away,  "  if  the  old  volk  are 
right  after  all,  and  if  there  is  a  God."  (Frank  Muller  was 
sufficiently  impregnated  with  modern  ideas  to  be  a  free- 


94  JESS. 

thinker.)  "It  almost  seems  like  it,"  he  went  on,  "else 
how  did  it  come  that  the  one  bullet  passed  under  his  belly 
and  the  other  just  touched  his  head  without  harming  him  ? 
I  aimed  carefully  enough,  too,  and  I  could  make  the  shot 
nineteen  times  out  of  twenty  and  not  miss.  Bah,  a  God! 
I  snap  my  fingers  at  him.  Chance  is  the  only  god.  Chance 
blows  men  about  like  the  dead  grass,  till  death  comes  down 
like  the  veldt  fire  and  burns  them  up.  But  there  are  men 
who  ride  chance  as  one  rides  a  young  colt — ay,  who  turn 
its  headlong  rushing  and  rearing  to  their  own  ends — who 
let  it  fly  hither  and  thither  till  it  is  weary,  and  then  canter 
it  along  the  road  that  leads  to  triumph.  I,  Frank  Muller, 
am  one  of  those  men.  I  never  fail  in  the  end.  I  will  kill 
that  Englishman.  Perhaps  I  will  kill  old  Silas  Croft  and 
the  Hottentot  too.  Bah!  they  do  not  know  what  is  com- 
ing. I  know;  I  have  helped  to  lay  the  mine;  and  unless 
they  bend  to  my  will  I  shall  be  the  one  to  fire  it.  I  will 
kill  them  all,  and  I  will  take  Mooifontein,  and  then  I  will 
marry  Bessie.  She  will  fight  against  it,  but  that  will  make 
it  all  the  sweeter.  She  loves  that  rooibaatje;  I  know  it; 
and  I  will  kiss  her  over  his  dead  body.  Ah !  there  are  the 
carts.  I  don't  see  the  captain.  Driven  home,  I  suppose, 
on  account  of  the  shock  to  his  nerves.  Well,  I  must  talk 
to  those  fools.  Lord,  what  fools  they  are  with  their  talk 
about  the  'land,'  and  the  '  verdomde  Britische  Gouvern- 
ment.'  They  don't  know  what  is  good  for  them.  Silly 
sheep  with  Frank  Muller  for  a  shepherd!  Ay,  and  they 
shall  have  Frank  Muller  for  a  president  one  day,  and  I  will 
rule  them  too.  Bah!  I  hate  the  English;  but  I  am  glad 
that  I  am  half  English  for  all  that,  for  that  is  where  I  get 
the  brains!  But  these  people — fools,  fools.  Well,  I  shall 
pipe  and  they  shall  dance!" 

"  Baas,"  said  Jantje  to  John,  as  they  were  driving  home- 
ward, "  Baas  Frank  shot  at  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  asked  John. 

"I  saw  him.     He  was  stalking  the  wounded  bull,  and 


JESS.  05 

not  looking  for  a  calf  at  all.  There  was  no  calf.  He  was 
just  going  to  fire  at  the  wounded  bull  when  he  turned  and 
saw  you,  and  he  knelt  down  on  one  knee  and  covered  you, 
and  before  I  could  do  anything  he  fired,  and  then  when  he 
saw  that  he  had  missed  you  he  fired  again,  and  I  don't 
know  how  it  was  he  did  not  kill  you,  for  he  is  a  wonderful 
shot  with  a  rifle — he  never  misses." 

"  I  will  have  the  man  tried  for  attempted  murder,"  said 
John,  bringing  the  butt-end  of  his  rifle  down  with  a  bang 
on  to  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  "  A  villain  like  that  shall 
not  go  scot-free." 

Jantje  grinned.  "  It  is  no  use,  baas.  He  would  get  off, 
for  I  am  the  only  witness.  A  jury  won't  believe  a  black 
man  in  this  country,  and  they  would  never  punish  a  Boer 
for  shooting  at  an  Englishman.  No,  baas,  you  should  lie 
up  one  day  in  the  veldt  where  he  is  going  to  pass  and 
shoot  him.  That  is  what  I  would  do  if  I  dared." 


CHAPTER   XL 

ON   THE    BEINK. 

FOE  a  few  weeks  after  John  Kiel's  adventure  at  the 
shooting-party  no  event  of  any  importance  occurred  at 
Mooifontein.  Day  followed  day  in  charming  monotony, 
for,  whatever  "  gay  worldlings  "  may  think,  monotony  is  as 
full  of  charm  as  a  dreamy  summer  afternoon.  "  Happy  is 
the  country  that  has  no  history,"  says  the  voice  of  wis- 
dom, and  the  same  remark  may  be  made  with  even  more 
truth  of  the  individual.  To  get  up  in  the  morning  and 
feel  that  one  is  full  of  health  and  strength,  to  pursue  the 
common  round  and  daily  task  till  the  evening,  and  finally 
to  go  to  bed  pleasantly  tired  and  sleep  the  sleep  of  the 
just,  is  the  true  secret  of  happiness.  Fierce  excitements, 
excursions,  and  alarms  do  not  conduce  either  to  mental  or 
physical  well-being,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  we  find 
that  those  whose  lives  have  been  chiefly  concerned  witli 
them  crave  the  most  after  the  quiet  round  of  domestic  life. 
When  they  get  it  they  generally,  it  is  true,  pant  for  the 
ardors  of  the  fray  whereof  the  dim  and  distant  sounds  are 
echoing  through  the  spaces  of  their  heart,  in  the  same  way 
that  the  countries  without  a  history  are  always  anxious  to 
write  one  in  their  own  blood;  but  then  that  is  a  principle 
of  nature  which  will  allow  of  no  standing  still  among  her 
subjects,  and  has  ordained  that  strife  of  one  sort  or  an- 
other shall  be  the  absolute  condition  of  existence. 

On  the  whole,  John  found  that  the  life  of  a.  South 
African  farmer  came  well  up  to  his  expectations.  He  had 
ample  occupation;  indeed,  what  between  ostriches,  horses, 


JESS.  97 

cattle,  sheep,  and  crops,  he  was  rather  over  than  under  oc- 
cupied. Nor  was  he  greatly  troubled  by  the  lack  of  civil- 
ized society,  for  he  was  a  man  who  read  a  great  deal,  and 
books  could  be  ordered  from  Durban  and  Cape  Town, 
while  the  weekly  mail  brought  up  an  ample  supply  of 
papers.  On  Sundays  he  always  read  the  political  articles 
in  the  Saturday  Review  aloud  to  old  Silas  Croft,  who,  as 
he  got  older,  found  that  the  print  tried  his  eyes,  and  this 
was  an  attention  that  the  old  gentleman  greatly  appreci- 
ated. He  was  a  well-informed  man,  and  had,  notwith- 
standing his  long  life  spent  in  a  half-civilized  country, 
never  lost  his  hold  of  affairs  or  his  interest  in  the  wide  and 
rushing  life  of  the  world  in  one  of  whose  side  eddies  he 
lived  apart.  This  task  of  reading  the  Saturday  Review 
aloud  had  formerly  been  a  part  of  Bessie's  Sunday  service, 
but  her  uncle  was  very  glad  to  effect  an  exchange. 
Bessie's  mind  was  not  quite  in  tune  with  the  profundities 
of  that  journal,  and  her  attention  was  apt  to  wander  at  the 
most  pointed  passages.  And  thus  it  came  about,  what  be- 
tween the  Saturday  Review  and  other  things,  that  a  very 
warm  and  deep  attachment  sprang  up  betwixt  the  old  man 
and  his  younger  partner.  John  was  a  very  taking  man, 
especially  to  the  old,  for  whom  he  was  never  tired  of  per- 
forming little  services.  One  of  his  favorite  sayings  was 
that  old  people  should  be  "  let  down  easy,"  and  he  acted 
up  to  it.  Moreover,  there  was  a  quiet  jollity  and  a  bluff 
honesty  about  him  which  was  undoubtedly  attractive  both 
to  men  and  women.  But  his  great  recommendation  was 
that  he  was  a  well-informed,  experienced  man  and  a  gen- 
tleman, in  a  country  in  which  both  were  rare.  Every 
week  the  old  man  got  to  rely  more  and  more  on  him,  and 
let  things  pass  more  and  more  into  his  hands. 

"I'm  getting  old,  Niel,"  he  said  to  him  one  night;  "I'm 
getting  very  old;  the  grasshopper  is  becoming  a  burden 
to  me :  and  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  boy,"  laying  his 
hand  affectionately  upon  John's  shoulder,  "  I  have  no  son 


98  JESS. 

of  my  own,  and  you  will  have  to  be  a  son  to  me,  as  my 
dear  Bessie  has  been  a  daughter." 

John  looked  up  into  the  kindly,  handsome  old  face, 
crowned  with  the  fringe  of  snowy  hair,  and  at  the  two  keen 
eyes  set  deep  in  it  beneath  the  overhanging  eyebrows,  and 
thought  of  his  old  father  who  was  long  since  dead;  and 
somehow  he  was  moved,  and  his  own  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Ay,  Mr.  Croft,"  he  said,  taking  the  old  man's  hand, 
"  that  I  will,  to  the  best  of  my  ability.'* 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy,  thank  you.  I  don't  like  talking 
much  about  these  things,  but  as  I  said,  I  am  getting  old, 
and  the  Almighty  may  require  my  account  any  day,  and 
if  he  does  I  rely  on  you  to  look  after  these  two  girls.  It  is 
a  wild  country  this,  and  one  never  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen in  it  from  day  to  day,  and  they  will  want  it.  Some- 
times I  wish  I  were  clear  of  the  place.  And  now  I'm 
going  to  bed.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  as  though  I  had 
done  my  day's  work  in  the  world.  I'm  getting  feeble, 
John,  that  is  the  fact  of  it." 

After  that  he  always  called  him  John. 

Of  Jess  they  heard  but  little.  She  wrote  every  week, 
it  is  true,  and  gave  an  accurate  account  of  all  that  was 
going  on  at  Pretoria  and  of  her  daily  doings,  but  she  was 
one  of  those  people  whose  letters  tell  one  absolutely  noth- 
ing of  themselves  and  of  what  is  passing  in  their  minds. 
They  might  as  well  have  been  headed  "  Our  Pretoria 
Letter,"  as  Bessie  said,  disgustedly,  after  reading  through 
three  sheets  in  Jess's  curious,  upright  handwriting.  "  Once 
you  lose  sight  of  Jess,"  she  went  on,  "  she  might  as  well 
be  dead  for  all  you  learn  about  her.  Not  that  one  learns 
very  much  when  she  is  with  one,"  she  added,  reflectively. 

"  She  is  a  peculiar  woman,"  said  John,  thoughtfully.  At 
first  he  had  missed  her  very  much,  for,  peculiar  as  she  un- 
doubtedly was,  she  had  touched  a  new  string  in  him  some- 
where, of  the  existence  of  which  he  had  not  till  then  been 


JESS.  99 

• 

himself  aware.  And  what  is  more,  it  had  answered  pretty 
strongly  for  some  time;  but  now  it  was  slowly  vibrating 
itself  into  silence  again,  much  as  a  harp  does  when  the 
striker  takes  his  fingers  from  the  strings.  Had  she  stayed 
on  another  week  or  so  the  effect  might  have  been  more  en- 
during. 

But  although  Jess  had  gone  away  Bessie  had  not.  On 
the  contrary,  she  was  always  about  him,  surrounding  him 
with  that  tender  care  a  woman,  however  involuntarily, 
cannot  prevent  herself  from  lavishing  on  the  man  she 
loves.  Her  beauty  moved  about  the  place  like  a  beam  of 
light  about  a  garden,  for  she  was  indeed  a  lovely  woman, 
and  as  pure  and  good  as  she  was  lovely.  Nor  could  John 
long  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  partiality  for  him.  He 
was  not  a  vain  man — very  much  the  reverse,  indeed — but 
neither  was  he  a  fool.  And  it  must  be  said  that,  though 
Bessie  never  overstepped  the  bounds  of  maidenly  reserve, 
neither  did  she  take  particular  pains  to  hide  her  preference. 
Indeed,  it  was  too  strong  to  permit  of  her  doing  so.  Not 
that  she  was  animated  by  the  half-divine,  soul-searing 
breath  of  passion,  such  as  animated  her  sister — which  is  a 
very  rare  thing,  and,  take  it  altogether,  as  undesirable  and 
unsuitable  to  the  ordinary  conditions  of  this  prosaic  and 
work-a-day  life  as  it  is  rare — but  she  was  tenderly  and 
truly  in  love  after  the  ordinary  young-womanly  fashion; 
indeed,  her  passion,  measured  by  the  every -day  standard, 
would  have  proved  to  be  a  deep  one.  However  this  was, 
she  was  undoubtedly  prepared  to  make  John  Niel  a  faithful 
and  a  loving  wife  if  he  chose  to  ask  her  to  become  so. 

And  as  the  weeks  went  on — though,  of  course,  he  knew 
nothing  of  all  this — it  became  a  very  serious  question  to 
John  whether  he  should  not  ask  her.  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  live  alone,  especially  in  the  Transvaal,  and  it  was 
not  possible  for  him  to  pass  day  by  day  at  the  side  of  so 
mucli  beauty  and  so  much  grace  without  thinking  that  it 
would  be  well  to  draw  the  bond  of  union  closer.  Indeed, 


100  JESS. 

had  John  been  a  younger  man  or  had  less  experience,  he 
would  have  succumbed  to  the  temptation  much  sooner 
than  he  did.  But  he  was  neither  very  young  nor  very  in- 
experienced. Ten  years  or  more  ago,  in  his  green  and 
gushing  youth,  he  had,  as  has  been  said,  burned  his  fingers 
pretty  sharply,  and  a  lively  recollection  of  this  incident  in 
his  career  had  heretofore  proved  a  very  efficient  warning 
to  him.  Also,  he  had  got  to  that  period  of  life  when  men 
think  a  great  many  times  before  they  wildly  commit  them- 
selves to  the  deep  matrimonial  waters.  At  three-and- 
twenty  most  of  us  are  willing,  for  the  sake  of  a  pretty  face, 
to  undertake  the  serious  and  in  many  cases  overwhelming 
burdens,  risks,  and  cares  of  family  life,  and  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  parentage  of  a  large  and  healthy  brood,  but 
at  three-and-thirty  we  take  a  different  view  of  the  matter. 
The  temptation  may  be  great,  but  the  per-contra  list  is  so 
very  alarming,  and  we  never  know  even  then  if  we  see  all 
the  liabilities.  Such  are  the  black  thoughts  that  move  in 
the  breasts  of  selfish  men,  to  the  great  disadvantage  of  the 
marriage  market;  and  however  it  may  lower  John  Niel  in 
the  eyes  of  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  follow  this  por- 
tion of  his  life's  history,  it  must,  in  the  interests  of  truth 
and  fact,  be  confessed  that  he  was  not  free  from  them. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that,  sweet  as  Bessie  was  and 
pretty  as  she  was,  he  was  not  violently  in  love  with  hfcr ; 
and  one  requires  at  thirty-four  to  be  violently  in  love  to 
rush  into  the  near  risk  of  matrimony.  But,  however  com- 
mendably  cautious  a  man  may  be,  he  is  always  liable  to  be 
thrown  into  temptation  sufficiently  strong  to  sweep  away 
his  caution  and  make  a  mockery  of  his  plans.  However 
strong  the  rope,  it  has  its  breaking  strain;  and  in  the  same 
way  our  power  of  resistance  to  any  given  course  depends 
entirely  upon  the  power  of  the  temptation  to  draw  us  into 
it.  And  so  it  was  destined  to  be  with  our  friend  John 
Niel. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  his  conversation  with  old  Silas 


JESS.  101 

Croft  that  it  occurred  to  John  that  Bessie's  manner  had 
grown  rather  strange  of  late.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
had  avoided  his  society  instead  of,  if  not  courting  it,  at 
least  showing  a  certain  partiality  for  it.  Also,  she  had 
been  looking  pale  and  worried,  and  evinced  a  tendency  to 
irritation  that  was  quite  foreign  to  her  natural  sweetness 
of  disposition.  Now,  when  a  person  on  whom  one  is  ac- 
customed to  depend  for  most  of  that  social  intercourse  and 
those  pleasant  little  amenities  that  members  of  one  sex 
value  from  another,  suddenly  cuts  off  the  supply  without 
any  apparent  rhyme  or  reason,  it  is  enough  to  induce  a  feel- 
ing of  wonder,  not  to  say  of  vexation,  in  the  breast.  It 
never  occurred  to  John  that  the  reason  might  be  that  Bessie 
was  truly  fond  of  him,  and  perhaps  unconsciously  disap- 
pointed that  he  did  not  show  a  warmer  interest  in  her.  If, 
however,  we  were  to  examine  into  the  facts  of  the  case  we 
should  probably  discover  that  this  was  the  real  explanation 
of  the  change.  Bessie  was  a  straightforward  young  woman, 
whose  mind  and  purposes  were  as  clear  as  running  water. 
She  was  vexed  with  John — though  she  would  probably  not 
have  owned  it  even  to  herself  in  so  many  words — and  her 
manner  reflected  the  condition  of  her  mind. 

"  Bessie,"  said  John,  one  lovely  day,  just  as  the  afternoon 
was  merging  into  evening — "  Bessie  " — he  always  called  her 
Bessie  now — "  I  am  going  down  to  the  black-wattle  plan- 
tation by  the  big  mealie  patch.  I  want  to  see  how  those 
young  trees  are  doing.  If  you  have  done  your  cooking  " 
— for  Bessie  had  been  engaged  in  making  a  cake,  as  young 
ladies,  to  their  souls'  health,  often  have  to  do  in  the  colo- 
nies— "  I  wish  you  would  put  on  your  hat  and  come  with 
me.  I  don't  believe  that  you  have  been  out  to-day." 

"  Thank  you,  Captain  Niel,  I  don't  think  that  I  want  to 
come  out." 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  because  there  is  too  much  to  do. 
If  I  go  out  that  stupid  girl  will  burn  the  cake,"  and  she 


102  JESS. 

pointed  to  a  Kaffir  intombi  (young  girl)  who,  arrayed  in  a 
blue  smock,  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  feather  stuck  in  her  wool, 
was  vigorously  employed  in  staring  at  the  flies  on  the 
ceiling  and  sucking  her  black  fingers.  "  Really,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  stamp,  "  one  needs  the  patience  of  an 
angel  to  put  up  with  that  girl's  stupidity.  Yesterday  she 
smashed  the  biggest  dinner-dish  and  then  brought  me  the 
pieces  with  a  broad  grin  on  her  face,  and  asked  me  to 
'  make  them  one '  again.  The  white  people  were  so  clev- 
er, she  said,  it  would  be  no  trouble  to  me.  If  they  could 
make  the  white  plate  once,  and  could  make  flowers  grow 
on  it,  it  would  surely  be  easy  to  make  it  whole  again.  I 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  or  throw  the  pieces 
at  her." 

"  Look  here,  young  woman,"  said  John,  taking  the  sin- 
ning girl  by  the  arm  and  leading  her  solemnly  to  the  oven, 
which  was  opened  to  receive  the  cake;  "  look  here,  if  you 
let  that  cake  burn  while  the  inkosikaas  (lady  chieftain)  is 
away,  when  I  come  back  I  will  cram  you  into  the  oven  to 
burn  with  it.  I  cooked  a  girl  like  that  in  Natal  last  year, 
and  when  she  came  out  she  was  quite  white!" 

Bessie  translated  this  fiendish  threat,  whereat  the  girl 
grinned  from  ear  to  ear  and  murmured  "  Koos  "  (chief)  in 
cheerful  acquiescence.  A  Kaffir  girl,  on  a  pleasant  after- 
noon, is  not  troubled  by  the  prospect  of  being  baked  at 
nightfall,  which  is  a  long  way  off,  especially  when  it  was 
John  Niel  who  threatened  the  baking.  The  natives  about 
Mooifontein  had  pretty  well  taken  the  measure  of  John's 
foot  by  this  time.  His  threats  were  awful,  but  his  per- 
formances were  not  great.  Once,  indeed,  he  had  to  have 
a  regular  stand-up  fight  with  a  great  fellow  who  thought 
that  he  could  on  this  account  be  taken  advantage  of,  but 
after  he  had  succeeded  in  administering  a  sound  hiding  to 
that  champion  he  was  never  again  troubled  in  this  respect. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  think  we  have  provided  for  the  safe- 
ty of  your  cake,  so  come  on." 


JESS.  103 

"Thank  you,  Captain  Niel,"  answered  Bessie,  looking 
at  him  in  a  bewitching  little  way  she  well  knew  how  to 
assume,  "  thank  you,  but  I  think  I  had  rather  not  go  out 
walking."  This  was  what  she  said,  but  her  eyes  added, 
"  I  am  offended  with  you  ;  I  want  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  John;  "then  I  suppose  I  must  go 
alone,"  and  he  took  up  his  hat  with  the  air  of  a  martyr. 

Bessie  looked  through  the  open  kitchen  door  at  the 
lights  and  shadows  that  chased  each  other  across  the 
swelling  bosom  of  the  hill  behind  the  house. 

"It  certainly  is  very  fine,"  she  said;  "are  you  going 
far?" 

"  No,  only  round  the  plantation." 

"  There  are  so  many  puff-adders  down  there,  and  I  hate 
snakes,"  suggested  Bessie,  by  way  of  finding  another  ex- 
cuse for  not  coming. 

"  Oh,  I'll  look  after  the  puff-adders — come  along." 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  last,  as  she  slowly  unrolled  her 
sleeves,  which  had  been  tucked  up  during  the  cake-mak- 
ing, and  hid  her  beautiful  white  arms,  "  I  will  come,  not 
because  I  want  to  come,  but  because  you  have  overper- 
suaded  me.  I  don't  know  what  has  come  to  me,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  stamp  and  a  sudden  filling  of  her  blue 
eyes  with  tears,  "  I  do  not  seem  to  have  any  will  of  my 
own  left.  When  I  want  to  do  one  thing  and  you  want 
me  to  do  another,  it  is  I  who  have  to  do  what  you  want; 
and  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  it,  Captain  Niel,  and  I  shall  be 
very  cross  out  walking ;"  and  she  swept  past  him,  on  her 
way  to  fetch  her  hat,  in  that  peculiarly  graceful  way  that 
angry  women  can  sometimes  assume,  and  left  him  reflect- 
ing that  he  never  saw  a  more  charming  or  taking  lady  in 
Europe  or  out  of  it. 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  risk  it  and  ask  her  to  marry  him. 
But  then,  perhaps,  she  might  refuse  him,  and  that  was  an 
idea  that  he  did  not  quite  take  to.  After  our  first  youth 


104  JESS. 

few  men  altogether  relish  the  idea  of  putting  themselves 
in  a  position  that  gives  a  capricious  woman  an  opportunity 
of  first  figuratively  jumping  on  them,  and  then  perhaps 
holding  them  up  to  the  scorn  and  obloquy  of  her  friends, 
relations,  and  other  admirers.  For,  unfortunately,  until 
the  opposite  is  clearly  demonstrated,  many  men  are  apt  to 
believe  that  not  a  few  women  are  by  nature  capricious, 
shallow,  and  unreliable;  and  John  Niel,  owing,  possibly,  to 
that  unhappy  little  experience  of  his  youth,  must  be  reck- 
oned among  their  misguided  ranks. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OVER    IT. 

ON  leaving  the  house  Bessie  and  John  took  their  way 
down  the  long  avenue  of  blue-gums.  This  avenue  was  old 
Silas  Croft's  particular  pride,  for  although  it  had  only  been 
planted  for  about  twenty  years,  the  trees,  which  in  the  di- 
vine climate  and  virgin  soil  of  the  Transvaal  grow  at  the 
most  extraordinary  rate,  were  for  the  most  part  very  lofty, 
and  as  thick  in  the  stem  as  English  oaks  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years'  standing.  The  avenue  was  not  over-wide,  and 
the  trees  were  planted  quite  close  one  to  another,  with  the 
result  that  their  brown,  pillar-like  stems  shot  up  for  many 
feet  without  a  branch,  while  high  overhead  the  boughs 
'  crossed  and  intermingled  in  such  a  way  as  to  form  a  leafy 
tunnel,  through  which  one  looked  at  the  landscape  beyond 
as  one  does  through  a  telescope. 

Down  this  charming  avenue  John  and  Bessie  walked, 
and  on  reaching  its  limit  turned  to  the  right  and  followed 
a  little  footpath  winding  in  and  out  of  the  rocks  that  built 
up  the  plateau  on  the  hillside  on  which  the  house  stood. 
Presently  this  led  them  through  the  orchard,  and  then 
came  a  bare  strip  of  veldt,  a  very  dangerous  spot  in  a 
thunderstorm,  but  a  great  safeguard  to  the  house  and 
trees  round  it,  for  the  ironstone  cropped  up  here,  and  from 
the  house  one  might  generally  see  flash  after  flash  striking 
down  on  to  it,  and  even  running  and  zigzagging  about  its 
surface.  To  the  left  of  this  were  some  cultivated  lands, 
and  in  front  of  them  the  plantation  in  which  John  was 
anxious  to  inspect  some  recently  planted  wattles. 


106  JESS. 

They  walked  right  to  the  copse  without  saying  a  word. 
It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch  and  a  low  sod  wall,  whereon 
Bessie  seated  herself,  saying  that  she  would  wait  there  till 
he  had  looked  at  the  trees,  as  she  was  afraid  of  the  puff- 
adders,  of  which  a  large  and  thriving  family  were  known 
to  live  in  the  plantation. 

John  assented,  remarking  that  the  puff-adders  were 
brutes,  and  that  he  must  have  some  pigs  turned  in  to  de- 
stroy them — which  the  pigs  do  by  munching  them  up,  ap- 
parently without  unpleasant  consequences  to  themselves — 
and  then  departed  on  his  errand,  wending  his  way  gingerly 
through  the  feathery  black  wattles.  It  did  not  take  long, 
and  he  saw  no  puff-adders.  When  he  had  finished  looking 
at  the  young  trees  he  returned,  still  walking  delicately  as 
Agag.  On  getting  to  the  border  of  the  plantation  he 
paused  to  look  at  Bessie,  who  was  some  twenty  paces  from 
him,  perched  sideways  on  the  low  sod  wall,  and  framed,  as 
it  were,  in  the  full  rich  light  of  the  setting  sun.  Her  hat 
was  off,  for  the  sun  had  lost  its  burning  force,  and  the 
hand  that  held  it  hung  idly  by  her,  while  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  horizon  flaming  with  all  the  varied  glories  of 
the  African  sunset.  He  gazed  at  her  sweet  face  and  lissom 
form,  and  some  lines  that  he  had  read  years  before  floated 
idly  into  his  mind. 

"  The  little  curls  about  her  head 
Were  all  her  crown  of  gold, 
Her  delicate  arms  drooped  downwards 

In  slender  mould, 
As  white-veined  leaves  of  lilies 

Curve  and  fold, 

She  moved  to  measure  of  music, 
As  a  swan  sails  the  stream — " 

He  had  got  as  far  as  this  when  she  turned  and  saw  him, 
and  he  gave  up  the  poetry  in  the  presence  of  one  who  might 
well  have  inspired  it. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  she  said,  with  a  smile; 
"  the  sunset  ?" 


JESS.  107 

"  No;  I  was  looking  at  you." 

"  Then  you  might  have  been  better  employed  with  the 
sunset,"  she  answered,  turning  her  head  quickly.  "  Look 
at  it!  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sunset?  We  sometimes 
get  them  like  that  at  this  time  of  the  year,  when  the  thun- 
derstorms are  about." 

She  was  right;  it  was  glorious.  The  heavy  clouds  which 
a  couple  of  hours  before  had  been  rolling  like  celestial 
hearses  across  the  azure  deeps  were  now  aflame  with,  glory. 
Some  of  them  glowed  like  huge  castles  wrapped  in  fire, 
others  with  the  dull  red  heat  of  burning  coal.  The  eastern 
sky  was  one  sheet  of  burnished  gold,  that  slowly  grew  to 
red,  and  higher  yet  to  orange  and  the  faintest  rose.  To 
the  left  departing  sunbeams  rested  lovingly  on  gray  Quath- 
lamba's  crests,  even  firing  the  eternal  snows  that  lay  upon 
his  highest  peak,  and  writing  once  more  upon  their  white- 
ness the  record  of  another  day  fulfilled.  Lower  down  the 
sky  floated  little  clouds,  flame-flakes  fallen  from  the  burn- 
ing mass  above,  and  on  the  earth  beneath  lay  great  depths 
of  shadow  barred  with  the  brightness  of  the  dying  light. 

John  stood  and  looked  at  it,  and  its  living,  glowing 
beauty  seemed  to  fire  his  imagination,  as  it  fired  earth  and 
heaven,  in  such  sort  that  the  torch  of  love  lit  upon  his 
heart  like  the  sunbeams  on  the  mountain  -  tops.  Then 
from  the  celestial  beauty  of  the  skies  he  turned  to  con- 
template the  earthly  beauty  of  the  woman  who  sat  there 
before  him,  and  found  that  also  fair.  Whether  it  was  the 
contemplation  of  the  glories  of  nature — for  there  is  always 
a  suspicion  of  melancholy  in  beautiful  things — or  whatever 
it  was,  her  face  had  a  touch  of  sadness  on  it  that  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  which  certainly  added  to  its  charm 
as  a  shadow  adds  to  the  charm  of  the  light. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Bessie  ?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up,  and  he  saw  that  her  lips  were  quivering 
a  little.  "  Well,  do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  was,  oddly 
enough,  thinking  of  my  mother.  I  can  only  just  remember 


108  JESS. 

her,  a  woman  with  a  thin,  sweet  face.  I  remember  one 
evening  she  was  sitting  in  front  of  a  house  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting  like  it  is  now,  and  I  was  playing  by  her,  when 
suddenly  she  called  me  to  her  and  kissed  me,  and  then 
pointed  to  the  red  clouds  that  were  gathered  in  the  sky 
and  said,  'I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  think  of  me,  dear, 
when  I  have  passed  through  those  golden  gates  ?'  I  did 
not  understand  what  she  meant  then,  but  somehow  I  have 
remembered  the  words,  and  though  she  died  so  long  ago  I 
do  often  think  of  her;"  and  two  large  tears  rolled  down 
her  face  as  she  spoke. 

Few  men  can  bear  to  see  a  sweet  and  pretty  woman  in 
tears,  and  this  little  incident  was  too  much  for  John,  whose 
caution  and  doubts  all  went  to  the  winds  together,  and 
have  not  since  been  heard  of. 

"Bessie,"  he  said,  "don't  cry,  dear;  please,  don't!  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  cry." 

She  looked  up  as  though  to  remonstrate  at  his  words, 
and  then  looked  down  again. 

"Listen,  Bessie,"  he  went  on,  awkwardly  enough,  "I 
have  got  something  to  say  to  you.  I  want  to  ask  you  if 
— if,  in  short,  you  will  marry  me.  Wait  a  bit,  don't  say 
anything  yet;  you  know  me  pretty  well  by  now.  I  am  no 
chicken,  dear,  and  I  have  knocked  about  the  world  a  good 
deal,  and  had  one  or  two  love  affairs  like  other  people. 
But,  Bessie,  I  never  met  such  a  sweet  woman,  or,  if  you 
will  let  me  say  it,  such  a  lovely  woman  as  you,  and  if  you 
will  have  me,  dear,  I  think  that  I  shall  be  the  luckiest  man 
in  South  Africa;"  and  he  stopped,  not  exactly  knowing 
what  else  to  say,  and  the  time  had  not  come  for  action,  if 
indeed  it  was  to  come  at  all. 

When  she  first  realized  the  drift  of  his  talk  Bessie  had 
flushed  up  to  the  eyes,  and  then  the  blood  had  sunk  back 
to  her  breast,  and  left  her  as  pale  as  a  lily.  She  loved  the 
man,  and  they  were  happy  words  to  her,  and  she  was  sat- 
isfied with  them,  though  perhaps  some  women  might  have 


JESS.  109 

thought  that  they  left  a  good  deal  to  be  desired.  But 
Bessie  was  not  of  an  exacting  nature. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"  Are  you  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  you  mean  all  this  ?  I 
mean  sometimes  people  say  things  of  a  sudden,  upon  an 
impulse,  and  then  afterwards  they  wish  that  they  never 
had  been  said.  If  that  was  so  it  would  be  rather  awkward, 
supposing  I  were  to  say  'yes,'  you  know." 

"  Of  course  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  indignantly. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  Bessie,  poking  at  the  sod  wall  with 
the  stick  she  held  in  her  hand,  "  perhaps  in  this  place  you 
might  be  putting  an  exaggerated  value  on  me.  You  think 
I  am  pretty  because  you  see  nobody  but  Kaffir  and  Boer 
women,  and  it  would  be  the  same  with  everything.  I'm 
not  fit  to  marry  a  man  like  you,"  she  went  on,  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  distress;  "I  have  never  seen  anything  or  any- 
body. I  am  nothing  but  an  ignorant,  half -educated  farmer 
girl,  with  nothing  to  recommend  me,  and  no  fortune  except 
my  looks.  -  You  are  different  to  me;  you  are  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  if  ever  you  went  back  to  England  I  should  be 
a  drag  on  you,  and  you  would  be  ashamed  of  me  and  my 
colonial  ways.  If  it  had  been  Jess  now,  it  would  have 
been  different,  for  she  has  more  brains  in  her  little  finger 
than  I  have  in  my  whole  body." 

Somehow  this  mention  of  Jess  jarred  upon  John's  nerves, 
and  chilled  him  like  a  breath  of  cold  wind  on  a  hot  day. 
He  wanted  to  put  Jess  out  of  his  mind  just  now. 

"  My  dear  Bessie,"  he  broke  in,  "  why  do  you  suppose 
such  things  ?  I  can  assure  you  that,  if  you  appeared  in  a 
London  drawing-room,  you  would  put  most  of  the  women 
in  it  into  the  shade.  Not  that  there  is  much  chance  of  my 
frequenting  London  drawing-rooms  again,"  he  added. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  may  be  good-looking ;  I  don't  say  that  I  am 
not ;  but  can't  you  understand  I  don't  want  you  to  marry 
me  just  because  I  am  a  pretty  woman,  as  the  Kaffirs  marry 
their  wives.  If  you  marry  me  at  all  I  want  you  to  marry 


110  JESS. 

me  because  you  care  for  me,  the  real  me,  not  my  eyes  and 
my  hair.  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  answer  you  !  I  don't, 
indeed  !"  and  she  began  to  cry  softly. 

"  Bessie,  dear  Bessie  !"  said  John,  who  was  pretty  well 
beside  himself  by  this  time,  "  just  tell  me  honestly — do  you 
care  about  me  ?  I  am  not  worth  much,  I  know,  but  if  you 
do  all  this  just  goes  for  nothing,"  and  he  took  her  hand  and 
drew  her  towards  him,  so  that  she  half  slipped,  half  got  off 
the  sod  wall  and  stood  face  to  face  with  him,  for  she  was 
a  tall  woman,  and  they  were  very  nearly  of  a  height. 

Twice  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  his  to  answer  and 
twice  her  courage  failed  her,  and  then  at  last  the  truth 
broke  from  her  almost  with  a  cry: 

"Oh,  John,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart !" 

And  now  I  think  that  we  may  drop  a  veil  over  the  rest 
of  these  proceedings,  for  there  are  some  things  that 
should  be  sacred,  even  from  the  pen  of  the  historian,  and 
the  first  transports  of  the  love  of  a  pure  woman  is  one  of 
them. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  sat  there  side  by  side  on  that 
sod  wall,  and  were  as  happy  as  people  ought  to  be  under 
such  circumstances,  till  the  glory  departed  from  the  west- 
ern sky  and  the  world  grew  cold  and  pale,  till  the  night 
came  down  and  hid  the  mountains,  and  only  the  stars  and 
they  were  left  to  look  out  across  the  dusky  distances  of 
the  wilderness  of  plain. 

Meanwhile  a  very  different  scene  was  being  enacted  up 
at  the  house,  half  a  mile  away. 

Not  more  than  ten  minutes  after  John  and  his  lady-love 
had  departed  on  that  fateful  walk  to  look  at  the  young 
trees,  Frank  Muller's  stalwart  form,  mounted  on  his  great 
black  horse,  was  to  be  seen  leisurely  advancing  towards 
the  blue-gum  avenue.  Jantje  was  lurking  about  between 
the  stems  of  the  trees  in  the  peculiar  fashion  that  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  Hottentot,  and  which  doubtless  is  bred 


JESS.  Ill 

into  him  after  tens  of  centuries  of  tracking  animals  and 
hiding  from  foes.  There  he  was,  slipping  from  trunk  to 
trunk,  and  gazing  round  him  as  though  he  expected  each 
instant  to  discover  the  assegai  of  an  ambushed  foe  or  to 
hear  the  footfall  of  some  savage  beast  of  prey.  There  was 
absolutely  no  reason  why  he  should  be  carrying  on  in  this 
fashion  ;  he  was  simply  indulging  his  natural  instincts 
where  he  thought  nobody  would  observe  him.  Life  at 
Mooifontein  was  altogether  too  tame  and  civilized  for 
Jantje's  taste,  and  he/absolutely  needed  periodical  recrea- 
tions of  this  sort.  Like  a  civilized  child  he  longed  for 
wild  beasts  and  enemies,  and  if  there  were  none  handy  he 
found  a  reflected  satisfaction  in  making  a  pretence  of  their 
presence. 

Presently,  however,  while  they  were  yet  a  long  way  off, 
his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  horse's  footfalls,  and 
he  straightened  himself  and  listened.  Not  satisfied  with 
the  results,  he  laid  himself  down,  put  his  ear  to  the  ground, 
and  gave  a  guttural  grunt  of  satisfaction. 

"  Baas  Frank's  black  horse,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"  The  black  horse  has  a  cracked  heel,  and  one  foot  hits  the 
ground  more  softly  than  the  others.  What  is  Baas  Frank 
coming  here  for?  After  missie  (Bessie),  I  think.  He 
would  be  mad  if  he  knew  that  missie  went  down  to  the 
plantation  with  Baas  Niel  just  now.  People  go  into 
plantations  to  kiss  each  other  (Jantje  was  not  far  out 
there),  and  it  would  make  Baas  Frank  mad  if  he  knew 
that.  He  would  strike  me  if  I  told  him,  or  I  would  tell 
him." 

The  horse's  hoofs  were  getting  near  by  now,  so  Jantje 
slipped  as  easily  and  naturally  as  a  snake  into  a  thick  tuft 
of  rank  grass  that  grew  between  the  blue-gums,  and 
waited.  Nobody  would  have  guessed  that  that  tuft  of 
grass  hid  a  human  being  ;  not  even  a  Boer  would  have 
guessed  it,  unless  he  had  happened  to  walk  right  on  to  the 
spy,  and  then  it  would  have  been  a  chance  but  that  the 


112  JESS. 

Hottentot  would  have  managed  to  avoid  being  trodden  on 
and  escaped  detection.  There  was,  again,  no  reason  why 
he  should  hide  himself  in  this  fashion,  except  that  it  pleased 
him  to  do  so. 

Presently  the  big  horse  approached,  and  the  snakelike 
Hottentot  raised  his  head  ever  so  little  and  peered  out 
with  his  beady  black  eyes  through  the  strawlike  grass 
stems.  They  fell  on  Muller's  cold  face.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  in  a  reflective  mood  —  in  an  angrily  reflective 
mood.  So  absorbed  was  he  that  he  nearly  let  his  horse, 
which  was  also  absorbed  by  the  near  prospect  of  a  com- 
fortable stall,  put  his  foot  into  a  big  hole  that  a  wander- 
ing antbear  had  amused  himself  on  the  previous  night  by 
digging  right  in  the  centre  of  the  road. 

"What  is  Baas  Frank  thinking  of,  I  wonder?"  said 
Jantje  to  himself  as  horse  and  man  passed  within  four  feet 
of  him.  Then  rising,  he  crossed  the  road,  and  slipping 
round  by  a  back  way  like  a  fox  from  a  covert,  was  stand- 
ing at  the  stable-door  with  a  vacant  and  utterly  unobserv- 
ant expression  of  face  some  seconds  before  the  black 
horse  and  its  rider  had  reached  the  house. 

"  I  will  give  them  one  more  chance,  just  one  more," 
thought  the  handsome  Boer,  or  rather  half-breed  (for  it 
will  be  remembered  that  his  mother  was  English),  "and 
if  they  won't  take  it,  then  let  their  fate  be  upon  their  own 
heads.  To-morrow  I  go  to  the  bymakaar  at  Paarde  Kraal 
to  take  counsel  with  Paul  Kriiger  and  Pretorius,  and  the 
other  '  fathers  of  the  land,'  as  they  call  themselves.  If  I 
throw  in  my  weight  against  rebellion  there  wall  be  no  re- 
bellion ;  if  I  urge  it  there  will  be,  and  if  Om  Silas  will  not 
give  me  Bessie,  and  Bessie  will  not  marry  me,  I  will  urge 
it,  even  if  it  plunge  the  whole  country  in  war  from  the 
Cape  to  Waterberg.  Patriotism !  Independence  !  Taxes  ! 
— that  is  what  they  all  cry  till  they  begin  to  believe  it 
themselves.  Bah  !  those  are  not  the  things  I  would  go  to 
war  for ;  but  ambition  and  revenge,  ah  !  that  is  another 


JESS.  113 

thing.  I  would  kill  them  all  if  they  stood  in  my  way,  all 
except  Bessie.  If  war  breaks  out,  who  will  hold  up  a  hand 
to  help  the  '  verdomde  Engelsmann  ?'  They  would  all  be 
afraid.  And  it  is  not  my  fault.  Can  I  help  it  if  I  love 
that  woman  ?  Can  I  help  it  if  my  blood  dries  up  with 
longing  for  her,  and  if  I  lie  awake  hour  by  hour  of  nights, 
ay,  and  weep — I,  Frank  Muller,  who  saw  the  murdered 
hi  Miles  of  my  father  and  my  mother  and  shed  no  tear — 
Ix-rause  she  hates  mp  and  will  not  look  favorably  upon 
me? 

"  Ob,  woman  !  woman  !  They  talk  of  ambition  and  of 
avarice,  and  of  self-preservation  as  the  keys  of  character 
and  action,  but  what  force  is  there  to  move  us  like  a  wom- 
an ?  A  little  thing,  a  weak,  fragile  thing  —  a  toy  from 
which  the  rain  will  wash  the  paint  and  of  which  the  rust 
will  stop  the  working,  and  yet  a  thing  that  can  shake  the 
world  and  pour  out  blood  like  water,  and  bring  down  sor- 
row like  rain.  So  !  1  stand  by  the  bowlder.  A  touch  and 
it  will  go  crashing  down  the  mountain-side  so  that  the 
world  hears  it.  Shall  I  send  it  ?  It  is  all  one  to  me.  Let 
Bessie  and  Om  Silas  judge.  I  would  slaughter  every  Eng- 
lishman in  the  Transvaal  to  gain  Bessie — ay  !  and  every  • 
Boer  too,  and  throw  ajl  the  natives  in  ;"  and  he  laughed 
aloud,  and  struck  the  great  black  horse,  making  it  plunge 
and  caper  gallantly. 

"  And  then,"  he  went  on,  giving  his  ambition  wing, 
"  when  I  have  got  Bessie  and  we  have  kicked  all  these 
Englishmen  out  of  the  land,  in  a  very  few  years  I  shall 
rule  this  country;  and  what  next?  Why,  then  I  will  stir 
up  the  Dutch  feeling  in  Natal  and  in  the  Old  Colony,  and 
we  will  push  the  Englishmen  back  into  the  sea,  make  a 
clean  sweep  of  the  natives,  only  keeping  enough  for  ser- 
vants, and  have  a  united  South  Africa,  like  that  poor  silly 
man  Burgers  used  to  prate  of,  but  did  not  know  how  to 
bring  about.  A  united  Dutch  South  Africa,  and  Frank 
Muller  to  rule  it !  Well,  such  things  have  been,  and  may 
8 


114  JESS. 

be  again.  Give  me  forty  years  of  life  and  strength,  and 
we  shall  see — " 

Just  then  he  reached  the  veranda  of  the  house,  and,  dis- 
missing his  secret  ambitions  from  his  mind,  Frank  Muller 
dismounted  and  entered.  In  the  sitting-room  he  found 
Silas  Croft  reading  a  newspaper. 

"  Good-day,  Om  Silas,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand. 

"  Good-day,  Meinheer  Frank  Muller,"  replied  the  old 
man,  coldly,  for  John  had  told  him  of  the  incident  at  the 
shooting-party  which  had  so  nearly  ended  fatally,  and 
though  he  had  made  no  remark  he  had  formed  his  own 
conclusions. 

"  What  are  you  reading  in  the  Volkstem,  Om  Silas — 
about  the  Bezuidenhout  affair?" 

"  No  ;  what  was  that  ?" 

"It  was  that  the  volk  are  rising  against  you  English, 
that  is  all.  The  sheriff  seized  Bezuidenhout's  wagon  in 
execution  of  taxes,  and  put  it  up  to  sale  at  Potchefstroom. 
But  the  volk  kicked  the  auctioneer  off  the  wagon  and 
hunted  him  round  the  town  ;  and  now  Governor  Lanyon 
is  sending  Raaf  down  with  power  to  swear  in  special 
constables  and  enforce  the  law  at  Potchefstroom.  He 
might  as  well  try  to  stop  a  river  by  throwing  stones. 
Let  me  see,  the  big  meeting  at  Paarde  Kraal  was  to 
have  been  on  the  fifteenth  of  December,  now  it  is  to  be 
on  the  eighth,  and  then  we  shall  see  if  it  will  be  peace  or 
war." 

"  Peace  or  war  ?"  answered  the  old  man,  tejstily.  "  That 
has  been  the  cry  for  years.  How  many  big  meetings  have 
there  been  since  Shepstone  annexed  the  country  ?  Six,  I 
think.  And  what  has  come  of  it  all  ?  Just  nothing  but 
talk.  And  what  can  come  of  it  ?  Suppose  the  Boers  did 
fight,  what  would  the  end  of  it  be  ?  They  would  be  beaten, 
and  a  lot  of  people  would  be  killed,  and  that  would  be  the 
end  of  it.  You  don't  suppose  that  England  would  give  in 
to  a  handful  of  Boers,  do  you  ?  What  did  General  Wolse- 


JESS.  115 

ley  say  the  other  day  at  the  dinner  at  Potchefstroom  ? 
Why,  that  the  country  would  never  be  given  up,  because 
no  government,  Conservative,  Liberal,  or  Radical,  would 
dare  to  do  such  a  thing.  And  now  this  new  Gladstone 
government  has  telegraphed  the  same  thing,  so  what  is  the 
use  of  all  the  talk  and  childishness  ?  Tell  me  that,  Frank 
Muller." 

Muller  laughed  as  he  answered,  "  You  are  all  very  sim- 
ple people,  you  English.  Don't  you  know  that  a  govern- 
ment is  like  a  woman  who  cries  '  No,  no,  no,'  and  kisses 
you  all  the  time  ?  If  there  is  noise  enough,  your  British 
government  will  eat  its  words  and  give  Wolseley  and 
Shepstone  and  Bartle  Frere  and  Lanyon,  and  all  of  them, 
the  lie.  This  is  a  bigger  business  than  you  think  for,  Om 
Silas.  Of  course  all  these  meetings  and  talk  are  got  up. 
The  people  are  angry  because  of  the  English  way  of  deal- 
ing with  the  natives,  and  because  they  have  to  pay  taxes  ; 
and  they  think  that,  now  that  you  English  have  paid  their 
debts  and  smashed  up  Sikukuni  and  Cetewayo,  they  would 
like  to  have  the  laud  back.  They  were  glad  enough  for 
you  to  take  it  at  first ;  now  it  is  another  matter.  But  still 
that  is  not  much.  If  they  were  left  to  themselves  noth- 
ing would  come  of  it  except  talk,  for  many  of  them  are 
very  glad  that  the  land  should  be  English.  But  the  men 
who  pull  the  strings  are  down  in  the  Cape.  They  want  to 
drive  every  Englishman  out  of  South  Africa.  When 
Shepstone  annexed  the  Transvaal  he  turned  the  scale 
against  the  Dutch  element  and  broke  up  the  plans  they 
have  been  laying  for  years  to  make  a  big  anti-English  re- 
public of  the  whole  country.  If  the  Transvaal  remains 
English  there  is  an  end  of  their  hopes,  for  only  the  Free 
State  remains,  and  that  is  hemmed  in.  That  is  why  they 
are  so  angry,  and  that  is  why  their  tools  are  stirring  the 
people  up.  They  mean  to  make  them  fight  now,  and  I 
thinK  that  they  will  succeed.  If  the  Boers  win  the  day 
they  will  declare  themselves  ;  if  not,  you  will  hear  nothing 


116  JESS. 

of  them,  and  the  Boers  will  bear  the  brunt  of  it.  They 
are  very  cunning  people,  the  Cape  '  patriots,'  but  they  look 
well  after  themselves." 

Silas  Croft  looked  troubled  and  made  no  answer,  and 
Frank  Muller  rose  and  stared  out  of  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FRAXK    MULLER    SHOWS    HIS    HAXD. 

PRESENTLY  Mulley  turned  round.  "Do  you  know  why 
I  have  told  you  this,  Om  Silas  ?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  understand  that  you  and  all  the 
Englishmen  in  this  country  are  in  a  very  dangerous  posi- 
tion. The  war  is  a  coming,  and  whether  it  goes  for  you 
or  against  you,  you  must  suffer.  You  Englishmen  have 
many  enemies.  You  have  got  all  the  trade  and  own  near- 
ly half  the  land,  and  you  are  always  standing  up  for  the 
black  people,  whom  the  Boers  hate.  It  will  go  hard  with 
you  if  there  is  a  war.  You  will  be  shot  and  your  houses 
will  be  burned,  and  if  you  lose  the  day,  those  who  escape 
will  be  driven  out  of  the  country.  It  will  be  the  Trans- 
vaal for  the  Transvaalers,  then,  and  Africa  for  the  Afri- 
canders." 

"  Well,  Frank  Muller,  and  if  all  this  should  come  to 
pass,  what  of  it?  What  are  you  driving  at,  Frank  Mul- 
ler ?  You  don't  show  me  your  hand  like  this  for  nothing." 

The  Boer  laughed.  "Of  course  I  don't,  Om  Silas. 
Well,  if  you  want  to  know,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean. 
I  mean  that  I  alone  can  protect  you  and  your  place  and 
people  in  the  bad  times  that  are  coming.  I  have  more  in- 
fluence in  the  land  than  you  know  of.  Perhaps,  even,  I 
could  stave  off  the  war,  and  if  it  suited  me  to  do  so  I  would 
do  it.  At  the  least  I  could  keep  you  from  being  harmed, 
that  I  know.  But  I  have  my  price,  Om  Silas,  as  we  all 
have,  and  it  must  be  money  down  and  no  credit." 


118  JESS. 

"  I  don't  understand  you  and  your  dark  sayings,"  said 
the  old  man,  coldly.  "  I  am  a  straightforward  man,  and 
if  you  will  tell  me  what  you  mean  I  will  give  you  my  an- 
swer ;  if  not,  I  don't  see  the  good  of  our  going  on  talking." 

"Very  well  ;  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I  mean 
Bessie.  I  mean  that  I  love  your  niece  and  want  to  marry 
her — ay,  I  mean  to  marry  her  by  fair  means  or  foul — and 
that  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  me." 

"And  what  have  I  to  do  with  that,  Frank  Muller  ?  The 
girl  is  her  own  mistress.  I  cannot  dispose  of  her  in  mar- 
riage, even  if  I  wanted  to,  as  though  she  were  a  colt  or 
an  ox.  You  must  plead  your  own  suit  and  take  your  own 
answer." 

"  I  have  pleaded  my  suit  and  I  have  got  my  answer," 
answered  the  Boer,  with  passion.  "  Don't  you  understand 
she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  me.  She  is  in  love  with 

that  d d  rooibaatje  Niel,  whom  you  have  brought  up 

here.     She  is  in  love  with  him,  I  say,  and  will  not  look  at 
me." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Silas  Croft,  calmly,  "  is  that  so  ?  Then 
she  shows  very  good  taste,  for  John  Niel  is  an  honest  man, 
Frank  Muller,  and  you  are  not.  Listen  to  me,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion  ;  "  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  a  dishonorable  man  and  a  villain.  I  tell  you  that 
you  murdered  the  Hottentot  Jantj6's  father,  mother,  and 
uncle  in  cold  blood  when  you  were  yet  a  lad.  I  tell  you 
that  the  other  day  you  tried  to  murder  John  Niel,  pre- 
tending to  mistake  him  for  a  buck  !  And  now  you,  who 
petitioned  for  this  country  to  be  taken  over  by  the  queen, 
and  have  gone  round  singing  out  your  loyalty  at  the  top 
of  your  voice,  come  and  tell  me  that  you  are  plotting  to 
bring  about  an  insurrection  and  to  plunge  the  land  into 
war,  and  ask  me  for  Bessie  as  the  price  of  your  protection  ! 
And  now  I  will  tell  you  something  in  answer,  Frank  Mul- 
ler," and  the  old  man  rose  up,  his  keen  eyes  flashing  in 
wrath,  and,  straightening  his  bent  frame,  pointed  towards 


.7  ESS.  119 

the  door.  "  Go  out  of  that  door  and  never  come  through 
it  again.  I  rely  upon  God  and  the  English  nation  to  pro- 
tect me,  and  not  on  such  as  you,  and  I  would  rather  see 
my  dear  Bessie  dead  in  her  coffin  than  married  to  a  knave 
and  traitor  and  a  murderer  like  Frank  Muller.  Go  !" 

The  Boer  turned  white  with  fury  as  he  listened.  Twice 
he  tried  to  speak  and  failed,  and  when  the  words  did  come 
they  were  so  choked  and  laden  with  passion  as  to  be  scarce- 
ly audible.  When  thwarted  he  was  liable  to  these  excesses 
of  rage,  and  they,  figuratively  speaking,  spoiled  his  char- 
acter. Could  he  have  kept  his  head,  he  would  have  been 
a  perfect  and  triumphant  villain;  but  as  it  was,  the  care- 
fully planned  and  audacious  rascality  of  years  was  always 
apt  to  be  swept  away  by  the  sudden  gale  of  his  furious 
passion.  It  was  in  such  an  outburst  of  rage  that  he  had 
assaulted  John  in  the  inn  yard  at  Wakkerstroom,  and 
thereby  put  him  on  his  guard  against  him,  and  now  it  mas- 
tered him  once  more. 

"  Very  well,  Silas  Croft,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  will  go  ;  but 
mark  this,  I  will  come  back,  and  when  I  come  it  shall  be 
with  men  armed  with  rifles.  I  will  burn  this  pretty  place 
of  yours,  that  you  are  so  proud  of,  over  your  head,  and  I 
will  kill  you  and  your  friend  the  Englishman,  and  take 
Bessie  away,  and  very  soon  she  will  be  glad  enough  to 
marry  Frank  Muller  ;  but  then  I  will  not  marry  her  —  no, 
not  if  she  goes  on  her  knees  to  me — and  she  shall  go  on 
her  knees  often  enough.  We  will  see  then  what  God  and 
the  English  nation  will  do  to  protect  you.  God  and  the 
English  nation  !  Call  on  the  sheep  and  the  horses  ;  call 
on  the  rocks  and  the  trees,  and  you  will  get  a  better  an- 
swer." 

"  Go !"  thundered  the  old  man,  "  or  by  the  God  you 
blaspheme  I  will  put  a  bullet  through  you,"  and  he  reached 
towards  a  rifle  that  hung  over  the  mantelpiece,  "  or  my 
Kaffirs  shall  whip  you  off  the  place." 

Frank  Muller  waited  for  no  more.    He  turned  and  went. 


120  JESS. 

It  was  dark  now,  but  there  was  still  some  light  in  the  sky 
at  the  end  of  the  blue-gum  avenue,  and  as  he  rode  away 
against  it  he  made  out  Bessie's  tall  and  graceful  form  soft- 
ly outlined  upon  the  darkening  night.  John  had  left  her 
to  see  about  some  pressing  matter  connected  with  the  farm, 
and  there  she  stood,  filled  with  the  great  joy  of  a  woman 
who  has  found  her  love,  and  loath  as  yet  to  break  its  spell 
by  entering  again  into  the  daily  round  of  common  life. 

There  she  stood,  a  type  and  symbol  of  all  that  is  beau- 
tiful and  gracious  in  this  rough  world,  the  lovelight  shin- 
ing in  her  blue  eyes  and  thoughts  of  happy  gratitude  to 
the  Giver  of  all  good  rising  from  her  heart  to  heaven, 
drawn  up  thither,  as  it  were,  by  the  warmth  of  her  pure 
passion,  as  the  dew  mists  of  the  morning  are  drawn  up- 
ward by  the  sun.  There  she  was,  so  good,  so  happy,  and 
so  sweet ;  an  answer  to  the  world's  evil,  a  symbol  of  the 
world's  joy,  and  an  incarnation  of  the  world's  beauty  ! 
Who  but  a  merciful  and  almighty  Father  can  create  chil- 
dren such  as  she,  so  lovely,  so  lovable,  and  set  them  on  the 
world  as  he  sets  the  stars  in  the  sky  to  light  it  and  make 
beholders  think  of  holy  things,  and  who  but  man  could 
have  the  heart  to  turn  such  as  she  to  the  base  uses  to 
which  they  are  daily  turned  ? 

Presently  she  heard  the  horse's  hoofs,  and  looked  up,  so 
that  the  faint  light  fell  full  upon  her  face,  idealizing  it, 
and  making  its  passion-breathing  beauty  seem  more  of 
heaven  than  of  earth.  There  was  some  look  upon  it,  some 
indefinable  light  that  day — such  is  the  power  that  love  has 
to  infuse  all  human  things  with  the  tint  of  his  own  splen- 
dor— that  it  went  even  to  the  heart  of  the  wild  and  evil 
man  who  adored  her  with  the  deep  and  savage  force  of  his 
dark  nature.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  half  regretful,  half 
afraid.  Was  it  well  to  meddle  with  her,  and  to  build  up 
plans  for  her  overthrow  and  that  of  all  she  clung  to? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  let  her  be,  to  go  his  way  and 
leave  her  to  go  hers,  in  peace  ?  She  did  not  look  quite 


JESS.  12i 

like  a  woman  standing  there,  but  more  like  something  be- 
longing to  another  world,  some  subject  of  a  higher  power. 
Men  of  powerful  but  undisciplined  intellect  like  Frank  Mul- 
ler  are  never  entirely  free  from  superstition,  however  free 
they  may  be  from  religion,  and  he  grew  superstitious,  as 
he  was  apt  to  do.  Might  there  not  be  an  unknown  penalty 
for  treading  such  a  flower  as  that  into  the  mire — into  mire 
mixed  perchance  with  the  blood  of  those  she  loved  ? 

For  a  few  seconds  he  hesitated.  Should  he  throw  up 
the  whole  thing,  \eswe  the  rebellion  to  look  after  itself, 
marry  one  of  Hans  Coetzee's  daughters,  and  trek  to  the 
Old  Colony,  or  Bechuanaland,  or  anywhere  ?  His  hand  be- 
gan to  tighten  on  his  bridle-rein  and  the  horse  to  answer 
to  the  pressure.  As  a  first  step  towards  it  he  would  turn 
away  to  the  left  and  avoid  her,  when  suddenly  the  thought 
of  his  successful  rival  flashed  into  his  mind.  What!  leave 
her  with  that  man  ?  Never  !  He  had  rather  kill  her  with 
his  own  hand.  In  another  second  he  had  sprung  from 
his  horse,  and,  before  she  had  guessed  who  it  was,  was 
standing  face  to  face  with  her.  The  strength  of  his  jeal- 
ous desire  overpowered  him. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  he  had  come  after  missie,"  said  Jantje, 
who,  pursuing  his  former  tactics,  was  once  more  indulging 
his  passion  of  slinking  about  behind  trees  and  in  tufts  of 
grass.  "Now  what  will  missie  say  !" 

"  How  are  you,  Bessie  ?"  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice;  but  she, 
looking  into  his  face,  saw  that  it  belied  his  voice.  It  was 
alive  with  evil  passions  that  seemed  to  make  it  positively 
lurid,  an  effect  that  its  undoubted  beauty  only  intensified. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Muller,"  she  answered, 
as  she  began  to  move  homewards,  commanding  her  voice 
as  well  as  she  could,  but  feeling  dreadfully  frightened  and 
lonely.  She  knew  something  of  her  admirer's  character, 
and  feared  to  be  left  alone  with  him,  so  far  from  any  help, 
for  nobody  was  about  now,  and  they  were  more  than  three 
hundred  yards  from  the  house. 


122  JESS. 

He  stood  before  her,  so  that  she  could  not  pass  without 
actually  pushing  past  him.  "  Why  are  you  in  such  a 
hurry?"  he  said.  "You  were  standing  still  enough  just 
now." 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  be  getting  in.  I  want  to  see  about 
the  supper." 

"  The  supper  can  wait  awhile,  Bessie,  and  I  cannot  wait. 
I  am  going  off  to  Paarde  Kraal  to-morrow  at  daybreak, 
and  I  want  to  say  good-bye  to  you  first." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  more  frightened  than  ever  at  his 
curious  constrained  manner,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  held  it. 

"  Please  let  me  go,"  she  said. 

"  Not  till  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say.  Look 
here,  Bessie,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  know  you 
think  I  am  only  a  Boer,  but  I  am  more  than  that.  I  have 
been  to  the  Cape  and  seen  the  world.  I  have  brains,  and 
can  see  and  understand  things,  and  if  you  will  marry  me  I 
will  lift  you  up.  You  shall  be  one  of  the  greatest  ladies 
in  Africa,  though  I  am  only  plain  Frank  Muller  now. 
Great  things  are  going  to  happen  in  the  country,  and  I 
shall  be  at  the  head  of  them,  or  near  it.  No,  don't  try  to 
get  away.  I  tell  you  I  love  you,  you  don't  know  how.  I 
am  dying  for  you.  Oh !  can't  you  believe  me,  ray  dar- 
ling! my  darling!  Yes,  I  will  kiss  you,"  and  in  an  agony 
of  passion,  that  her  resistance  only  fired  the  more,  he  flung 
his  strong  arms  round  her  and  drew  her  to  his  breast, 
fight  as  she  would. 

But  at  this  opportune  moment  an  unexpected  diversion 
occurred,  of  which  the  hidden  Jantj£  was  the  cause.  See- 
ing that  matters  were  getting  serious,  and  being  afraid  to 
show  himself  lest  Frank  Muller  should  kill  him  then  and 
there,  as  he  would  indeed  have  been  quite  capable  of  do- 
ing, he  hit  upon  another  expedient,  to  the  service  of  which 
he  brought  a  ventriloquistic  power  which  is  not  uncom- 
mon among  natives.  Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by 


JESS.  123 

a  frightful  and  prolonged  wail  that  seemed  to  shape  itself 
into  the  word  "  Frank,"  and  to  proceed  from  the  air  just 
above  the  struggling  Bessie's  head.  The  effect  produced 
upon  Mullet  was  something  wonderful. 

"  Allemachter!"  he  cried,  looking  up,  "  it  is  my  mother's 
voice!" 

"  Frank  P"1  wailed  the  voice  again,  and  he  let  go  of  Bes- 
sie in  his  perplexity  and  fear,  and  turned  round  to  try  and 
discover  whence  the  sound  proceeded — a  circumstance  that 
the  young  lady  to</k  advantage  of  to  beat  a  rapid  if  not 
very  dignified  retreat. 

"Frank!  Frank!  Frank!"  wailed  and  howled  the 
voice,  now  overhead,  now  on  this  side,  now  on  that,  till  at 
last  Muller,  thoroughly  mystified,  and  feeling  his  supersti- 
tious fears  rising  apace  as  the  moaning  sound  flitted  about 
beneath  the  dark  arch  of  the  gum-trees,  made  a  rush  for 
his  horse,  which  was  standing  snorting  and  trembling  in 
every  limb.  It  is  almost  as  easy  to  work  upon  the  super- 
stitious fears  of  a  dog  or  a  horse  as  upon  those  of  a  man, 
but  Muller,  not  being  aware  of  this,  took  the  animal's  alarm 
as  a  clear  indication  of  the  uncanny  nature  of  the  voice. 
With  a  single  bound  he  sprang  into  his  saddle,  and  as  he 
did  so  the  woman's  voice  wailed  out  once  more — 

"Frank,  thou  shalt  die  in  blood  as  I  did,  Frank!" 

Muller  turned  livid  with  fear,  and  the  cold  perspiration 
streamed  from  his  face.  He  was  a  bold  man  enough  in  a 
general  way,  but  this  was  too  much  for  his  nerves. 

"  It  is  my  mother's  voice,  it  is  her  very  words  !"  he 
called  out  aloud,  and  then,  dashing  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  flanks,  he  went  like  a  flash  away  from  the  accursed 
spot;  nor  did  he  draw  rein  till  he  came  to  his  own  place, 
ten  miles  away.  Twice  the  horse  fell  in  the  darkness,  for 
there  was  no  moon,  the  second  time  throwing  him  heavily, 
but  he  only  dragged  it  up  with  a  curse,  and,  springing  into 
the  saddle  again,  fled  on  as  before. 

Thus  did  the  man  who  did  not  hesitate  to  plot  and  to 


124  JESS. 

execute  the  cruel  slaughter  of  unoffending  men  cower  be- 
neath the  fancied  echo  of  a  dead  woman's  voice!  Truly 
human  nature  is  full  of  contradictions. 

When  the  thunder  of  the  horse's  hoofs  grew  faint  Jantje 
emerged  from  one  of  his  hiding-places,  and,  throwing  him- 
self down  in  the  centre  of  the  dusty  road,  kicked  and  rolled 
with  delight,  shaking  all  the  while  with  an  inward  joy  that 
his  habits  of  caution  would  not  permit  him  to  give  audible 
vent  to.  "His  mother's  voice,  his  mother's  words,"  he 
quoted  to  himself.  "How  should  he  know  that  Jantje 
remembers  the  old  woman's  voice — ay,  and  the  words  that 
the  devil  in  her  spoke  too?  Hee!  hee!  hee!" 

Finally  he  departed  to  eat  his  supper  of  beef,  which  he 
had  cut  off  an  unfortunate  ox  that  had  that  morning  ex- 
pired of  a  mysterious  complication  of  diseases,  filled  with 
a  happy  sense  that  he  had  not  lived  that  day  in  vain. 

Bessie  fled  without  stopping  till  she  reached  the  orange- 
trees  in  front  of  the  veranda,  where,  reassured  by  the 
lights  from  the  windows,  she  paused  to  consider.  Not 
that  she  was  troubled  by  Jantje's  mysterious  howling ; 
indeed,  she  was  too  preoccupied  to  give  it  a  second  thought. 
What  she  was  debating  was  whether  she  should  say  any- 
thing about  her  encounter  with  Frank  Muller.  Young 
ladies  are  not,  as  a  rule,  too  fond  of  informing  their  hus- 
bands or  lovers  that  somebody  has  kissed  them;  first,  be- 
cause they  know  that  it  will  force  them  to  make  a  disturb- 
ance, and  possibly  to  place  themselves  in  a  ridiculous  posi- 
tion ;  and,  secondly,  because  they  fear  lest  suspicious  man 
might  take  the  story  with  a  grain  of  salt,  and  might  even 
suggest  that  they  were  themselves  to  blame.  Both  these 
reasons  presented  themselves  to  Bessie's  practical  mind, 
and  also  the  further  one,  namely,  that  he  had  not  kissed 
her  after  all;  so,  on  a  rapid  review  of  the  whole  case,  she 
came  to  the  decision  to  say  nothing  to  John  about  it,  and 
only  enough  to  her  uncle  to  get  him  to  forbid  Frank  Mul- 
ler the  house — an  unnecessary  precaution,  as  the  reader 


JESS.  125 

will  remember.  Then,  after  pausing  for  a  few  seconds  to 
pick  a  branch  of  orange-blossom  and  to  become  herself 
generally,  which,  not  being  hysterically  inclined,  she  very 
soon  did,  she  quietly  entered  the  house  as  though  nothing 
had  happened.  The  very  first  person  she  met  was  John 
himself,  who  had  come  in  by  the  back  way.  He  laughed 
at  her  orange-blossom  bouquet,  and  said  that  it  was  most 
appropriate,  and  then  proceeded  to  embrace  her  tenderly 
in  the  passage;  andindeed  he  would  have  been  a  poor  sort 
of  lover  if  he  had  not.  It  was  exactly  at  this  juncture 
that  old  Silas  Croft  happened  to  open  the  sitting-room 
door  and  come  full  upon  this  tender  and  attractive  tab- 
leau. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "What  is 
the  meaning  of  all  this,  Bessie  ?" 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  come  in  and 
explain  the  facts  of  the  case,  which  John  did  with  much 
humming  and  ha-ing  and  a  general  awkwardness  of  man- 
ner that  baffles  description,  while  Bessie  stood  by,  her  hand 
upon  her  lover's  shoulder,  blushing  as  red  as  any  rose. 

The  old  man  listened  in  silence  till  John  had  finished — 
a  smile  upon  his  face  and  a  kindly  twinkle  in  his  keen  eyes. 

"So,"  he  said,  "that  is  what  you  young  people  have 
been  after,  is  it  ?  I  suppose  that  you  want  to  enlarge  your 
interests  in  the  farm,  eh,  John  ?  Well,  upon  my  word,  I 
don't  blame  you;  you  might  have  gone  farther  and  fared 
worse.  These  sort  of  things  never  come  singly,  it  seems. 
I  had  another  request  for  your  hand,  my  dear,  only  this 
afternoon,  from  that  scoundrel  Frank  Muller,  of  all  men  in 
the  world,"  and  his  face  darkened  as  he  said  the  name.  "  I 
sent  him  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear,  I  can  tell  you.  Had  I 
known  then  what  I  know  now  I  should  have  referred  him 
to  John.  There,  there!  He  is  a  bad  man,  and  a  danger- 
ous man,  but  let  him  be.  He  is  taking  plenty  of  rope,  and 
he  will  hang  himself  one  of  these  days.  Well,  my  dears, 
this  is  the  best  bit  of  news  that  I  have  heard  for  many  a 


126  JESS. 

long  day.  It  is  time  you  got  married,  both  of  you,  for  it 
is  not  right  for  man  to  live  alone,  or  woman  either.  I  have 
done  it  all  my  life,  and  that  is  the  conclusion  I  have  come 
to,  after  thinking  the  matter  over  for  somewhere  about  fifty 
years.  Yes,  you  have  my  consent  and  my  blessing,  too; 
and  you  will  have  something  more  one  day  before  so  very 
long.  Take  her,  John,  take  her.  I  have  led  a  rough  life, 
but  I  have  seen  something  of  women  for  all  that,  and  I 
tell  you  that  there  is  not  a  sweeter  or  a  better  or  a  pret- 
tier woman  in  South  Africa  than  Bessie  Croft,  and  in  want- 
ing to  marry  her  you  have  shown  your  sense.  God  bless 
you  both,  my  dears;  and  now,  Bessie,  come  and  give  your 
old  uncle  a  kiss.  I  hope  that  you  won't  let  John  quite 
drive  me  out  of  your  head,  that's  all,  for  you  see,  my  dear, 
having  no  children  of  my  own,  I  have  managed  to  get  very 
fond  of  you  in  the  last  twelve  years  or  so." 

Bessie  came  and  kissed  the  old  man  tenderly. 

"  No,  uncle,"  she  said,  "  neither  John  nor  anybody  nor 
anything  in  the  world  can  do  that,"  and  it  was  evident 
from  her  manner  that  she  meant  what  she  said.  Bessie 
had  a  large  heart,  and  was  not  at  all  the  person  to  let  her 
lover  drive  her  uncle  and  benefactor  out  ol  his  share  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JOHN   TO    THE    RESCUE. 

THE  important  domestic  events  described  in  the  last 
chapter  took  place  on  December  7,  1880,  and  for  the  next 
twelve  days  or  so  everything  went  as  happily  at  Mooifon- 
tein  as  things  should  go  under  the  circumstances.  Every 
day  Silas  Croft  beamed  with  a  more  enlarged  geniality  in 
his  satisfaction  at  the  turn  things  had  taken,  and  every 
day  John  found  cause  to  congratulate  himself  more  and 
more  on  the  issue  of  his  bold  venture  towards  matrimony. 
Now  that  he  came  to  be  on  such  intimate  terms  with  his 
betrothed,  he  perceived  a  hundred  charms  and  graces  in 
her  character  which  he  had  never  suspected  before.  Bessie 
was  like  a  flower;  the  more  she  basked  in  the  light  and 
warmth  of  her  love  the  more  her  character  opened  and 
unfolded,  shedding  perfumed  sweetness  round  her  and  re- 
vealing unguessed  charms.  It  is  so  with  all  women,  and 
more  especially  with  a  woman  of  her  stamp,  whom  nature 
has  made  to  love  and  be  loved  as  maid  and  wife  and  moth- 
er. Her  undoubted  personal  beauty  also  shared  in  this 
development,  her  fair  face  taking  a  richer  hue  and  her  eyes 
an  added  depth  and  meaning.  She  was  in  every  respect, 
save  one,  all  that  a  man  could  desire  in  his  wife,  and  even 
the  exception  was  one  that  would  have  stood  to  her  credit 
with  most  men.  It  was  this:  she  was  not  an  intellectual 
woman,  although  she  certainly  possessed  more  than  the 
ordinary  share  of  intelligence  and  work-a-day  common- 
sense.  Now  John  was  a  decidedly  intellectual  man,  and, 
what  is  more,  he  highly  appreciated  that  rare  quality  in 


128  JESS. 

the  other  sex.  But,  after  all,  when  one  is  just  engaged  to 
a  sweet  and  lovely  woman  one  does  not  think  much  about 
her  intellect.  Those  sort  of  reflections  come  afterwards. 

And  so  they  sauntered  hand  in  hand  through  the  sunny 
days,  and  were  exceedingly  happy.  Least  of  all  did  they 
allow  the  rumors  which  occasionally  reached  them  from 
the  great  Boer  gathering  at  Paarde  Kraal  to  disturb  their 
serenity.  There  had  been  so  many  of  these  rumors  of 
rebellion  that  folk  were  getting  to  regard  them  as  a  chronic 
state  of  affairs. 

"  Oh,  the  Boers!"  said  Bessie,  with  a  pretty  toss  of  her 
golden  head,  as  they  were  sitting  one  morning  on  the  ve- 
randa. "  I'm  sick  to  death  of  hearing  about  the  Boers  and 
all  their  got-up  talk.  I  know  what  it  is;  it  is  just  an  ex- 
cuse for  them  to  go  away  from  their  farms  and  wives  and 
children  and  idle  about  at  these  great  meetings,  and  drink 
square-face  with  their  mouths  full  of  big  words.  You  see 
what  Jess  says  in  her  last  letter.  People  in  Pretoria  be- 
lieve that  it  is  all  nonsense  from  beginning  to  end,  and  I 
think  they  are  perfectly  right." 

"  By  the  way,  Bessie,"  asked  John,  "  have  you  written 
to  Jess  telling  her  of  our  engagement  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  wrote  some  days  ago,  but  the  letter  only 
went  yesterday.  She  will  be  pleased  to  hear  about  it. 
Dear  old  Jess,  I  wonder  when  she  means  to  come  home 
again.  She  has  been  away  long  enough." 

John  made  no  answer,  but  went  on  smoking  his  pipe  in 
silence,  wondering  if  Jess  would  be  pleased.  He  did  not 
understand  her  yet.  She  had  gone  away  just  as  he  was 
beginning  to  understand  her. 

Presently  he  observed  Jantje  sneaking  about  between 
the  orange-trees  as  though  he  wished  to  call  attention  to 
himself.  Had  he  not  wanted  to  do  so  he  would  have 
moved  from  one  to  the  other  in  such  a  way  that  nobody 
could  have  seen  him.  His  partial  and  desultory  appear- 
ances indicated  that  he  was  on  view. 


JESS.  129 

"  Come  out  of  those  trees,  you  little  rascal,  and  stop 
slipping  about  like  a  snake  in  a  stone  wall!"  shouted  John. 
"  What  is  it  you  want — wages  ?" 

Thus  adjured,  Jantje  advanced  and  sat  down  on  the 
path  as  usual,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun. 

"  No,  baas,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  wages.  They  are  not 
due  yet." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?" 

V  No,  baas,  it  is  this.  The  Boers  have  declared  war  on 
the  English  government,  and  they  have  eaten  up  the  rooi- 
baatjes  at  Bronker's  Spruit,  near  Middelburg.  Joubert 
shot  them  all  there  the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  What!"  shouted  John,  letting  his  pipe  fall  in  his  as- 
tonishment. "  Stop,  though,  that  must  be  a  lie.  You  say 
near  Middelburg,  the  day  before  yesterday;  that  would  be 
December  20.  When  did  you  hear  this  ?" 

"  At  daybreak,  baas.     A  Basutu  told  me." 

"  Then  there  is  an  end  of  it.  The  news  could  not  have 
got  here  in  thirty-eight  hours.  What  do  you  mean  by 
coming  to  me  with  such  a  tale  ?" 

The  Hottentot  smiled.  "It  is  quite  true,  baas.  Bad 
news  flies  like  a  bird,"  and  he  picked  himself  up  and 
slipped  off  to  his  work. 

Notwithstanding  the  apparent  impossibility  of  the  thing, 
John  was  considerably  disturbed,  knowing  the  extraordi- 
nary speed  with  which  news  does  travel  among  Kaffirs ; 
more  swiftly,  indeed,  than  the  swiftest  mounted  messenger 
can  bear  it.  Leaving  Bessie,  who  was  also  somewhat 
alarmed,  he  went  in  search  of  Silas  Croft,  and,  finding  him 
in  the  garden,  told  him  what  Jantje  had  said.  The  old 
man  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  tale,  but,  remem- 
bering Frank  Muller's  threats,  he  shook  his  head. 

"  If  there  is  any  truth  in  it  that  villain  Muller  has  a 
hand  in  it,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  to  the  house  and  see  Jantje, 
Give  me  your  arm,  John." 

He  obeyed,  and,  on  getting  to  the  top  of  the  steep  path, 
9 


130  JESS. 

perceived  the  stout  figure  of  old  Hans  Coetzee,  who  had 
been  his  host  at  the  shooting-party,  ambling  along  on  his 
fat  little  pony. 

"Ah,"  said  old  Silas,  "here  is  the  man  who  will  tell  us 
if  there  is  anything  in  it  all." 

"Good-day,  Om  Coetzee,  good-day!"  he  shouted  out 
in  his  stentorian  tone.  "What  news  do  you  bring  with 
you  ?" 

The  jolly-looking  Boer  rolled  awkwardly  off  his  pony 
before  answering,  and,  throwing  the  reins  over  its  heacL 
came  to  meet  them. 

"  Allemachter,  Om  Silas,  it  is  bad  news.  You  have 
heard  of  the  bymakaar  (meeting)  at  Paarde  Kraal. 
Frank  Muller  wanted  me  to  go,  but  I  would  not,  and  now 
they  have  declared  war  on  the  British  government,  and 
sent  a  proclamation  to  Lanyon.  There  will  be  fighting, 
Om  Silas;  the  land  will  run  with  blood,  and  the  poor  rooi- 
baatjees  will  be  shot  down  like  buck." 

"The  poor  Boers,  you  mean,"  growled  John,  who  did 
not  like  to  hear  her  majesty's  army  talked  of  in  terms  of 
regretful  pity. 

Om  Coetzee  shook  his  head  with  the  air  of  one  who 
knew  all  about  it,  and  then  turned  an  attentive  ear  to 
Silas  Croft's  version  of  Jantje's  story. 

"  Allemachter!"  groaned  Coetzee,  "  what  did  I  tell  you? 
The  poor  rooibaatjes  shot  down  like  buck,  and  the  land 
running  with  blood.  And  now  that  Frank  Muller  will 
draw  me  into  it,  and  I  shall  have  to  go  and  shoot  the  poor 
rooibaatjes,  and  I  can't  miss;  try  as  hard  as  I  "will,  I  can*t 
miss.  And  when  we  have  shot  them  all  I  suppose  Burgers 
will  come  back,  and  he  is  kransick  (mad).  Yes,  yes; 
Lanyon  is  bad,  but  Burgers  is  worse,"  and  the  comfortable 
old  gentleman  groaned  aloud  at  the  troubles  in  which  he 
foresaw  he  would  be  involved,  and  finally  took  his  depart- 
ure by -a  bridle-path  over  the  mountain,  saying  that,  as 
things  had  turned  out,  he  would  not  like  it  to  be  known 


JESS.  131 

that  he  had  been  calling  on  an  Englishman.  "  They  might 
think  that  I  was  not  loyal  to  the  '  land,' "  he  added,  in  ex- 
planation ;  "the  land  which  we  Boers  bought  with  our 
blood,  and  which  we  shall  win  back  with  our  blood,  what- 
ever the  poor  '  pack  oxen  '  of  rooibaatjes  try  to  do.  Ah, 
those  poor  rooibaatjes,  one  Boer  will  drive  away  twenty  of 
them  and  make  them  run  across  the  veldt,  if  they  can  run 
in  those  great  knapsacks  of  theirs,  with  the  tin  things 
hanging  round  them  like  the  pots  and  kettles  to  the  bed- 
plank  of  a  wagon.  What  says  the  Holy  Book  :  '  One 
thousand  shall  flee  at  the  rebuke  of  one,  and  at  the  rebuke 
of  five  shall  ye  flee ;'  at  least  I  think  that  is  it.  The  dear 
Lord  knew  what  was  coming  when  he  wrote  it.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  Boers  and  the  poor  rooibaatjes,"  and  he 
departed,  shaking  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  am  glad  that  the  old  gentleman  has  made  tracks," 
said  John,  "  for  if  he  had  gone  on  much  longer  about  the 
poor  English  soldiers  he  would  have  fled  at  the  rebuke  of 
one,  I  can  tell  him." 

"  John,"  said  Silas  Croft,  suddenly,  "  you  must  go  up  to 
Pretoria  and  fetch  Jess.  Mark  my  words,  the  Boers  will 
besiege  Pretoria,  and  if  we  don't  get  her  down  at  once  she 
will  be  shut  up  there." 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Bessie,  in  sudden  alarm,  "  I  cannot  let 
John  go." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Bessie,  when 
your  sister  is  in  danger,"  answered  her  uncle,  rather  stern- 
ly; "  but  there,  I  dare  say  that  it  is  natural.  I  will  go 
myself.  Where  is  Jantje?  I  shall  want  the  Cape  cart 
and  the  four  gray  horses." 

"No,  uncle  dear,  John  shall  go.  I  was  not  thinking 
what  I  was  saying.  It  seemed — a  little  hard  at  first." 

"  Of  course  I  must  go,"  said  John.  "  Don't  fret,  dear,  I 
shall  be  back  in  five  days.  Those  four  horses  can  go  sixty 
miles  a  day  for  that  time,  and  more.  They  are  fat  as  but- 
ter, and  there  is  lots  of  grass  along  the  road  if  I  can't  get 


132  JESS. 

forage  for  them.  Besides,  the  cart  will  be  nearly  empty, 
so  I  can  carry  a  muid  of  mealies  and  fifty  bundles  of  for- 
age with  me.  I  will  take  that  Zulu  boy,  Mouti  (medicine), 
with  me.  He  does  not  know  much  about  horses,  but  he  is 
a  plucky  fellow,  and  would  stick  by  one  at  a  pinch.  One 
Can't  rely  on  Jantje;  he  is  always  sneaking  off  somewhere, 
and  would  be  sure  to  get  drunk  just  as  one  wanted  him." 

"  Yes,  yes,  John,  that's  right,  that's  right,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  I  will  go  and  see  about  having  the  horses  got  up 
and  the  wheels  greased.  Where  is  the  castor-oil,  Bessie  ? 
There  is  nothing  like  castor-oil  for  these  patent  axles. 
You  ought  to  be  off  in  an  hour.  You  had  better  sleep  at 
Luck's  to-night;  you  might  get  farther,  but  Luck's  fc  a 
good  place  to  stop,  and  they  will  look  after  you  well  there, 
and  you  can  be  off  by  three  in  the  morning  and  be  at 
Heidelberg  by  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  night,  and  in  Pre- 
toria by  the  next  afternoon,"  and  he  bustled  off  to  make 
the  necessary  preparations. 

"  Oh,  John,"  said  Bessie,  beginning  to  cry,  "I  don't  like 
your  going  at  all  among  all  those  wild  Boers.  You  are 
an  English  officer,  and  if  they  find  you  out  they  will  shoot 
you.  You  don't  know  what  brutes  some  of  them  are  when 
they  think  it  safe  to  be  so.  Oh,  John,  John,  I  can't  bear 
your  going." 

"  Cheer  up,  my  dear,"  said  John,  "  and  for  Heaven's 
sake  stop  crying,  for  I  can't  bear  it.  I  must  go.  Your 
uncle  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  didn't,  and,  what  is 
more,  I  should  never  forgive  myself.  There  is  nobody  else 
to  go,  and  we  can't  leave  Jess  to  be  shut  up  there  in  Pre- 
toria—  for  months,  perhaps.  As  for  the  risk,  of  course 
there  is  a  bit  of  a  risk,  but  I  must  take  it.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  risks — at  least  I  used  not  to  be,  but  you  have 
made  a  bit  of  a  coward  of  me,  Bessie  dear.  There,  give 
me  a  kiss,  old  girl,  and  come  and  help  me  to  pack  my 
things.  Please  God  I  shall  get  back  all  right,  and  Jess 
with  me,  in  a  week  from  now." 


JESS.  133 

Whereon  Bessie,  being  a  sensible  and  eminently  prac- 
tical young  woman,  dried  her  tears,  and  with  a  cheerful 
face,  albeit  her  heart  was  heavy  enough,  set  to  work  with 
a  will  to  make  every  preparation  she  could  think  of.  The 
few  clothes  John  was  going  to  take  with  him  were  packed 
in  a  Gladstone  bag,  and  the  box  that  was  arranged  under- 
neath the  movable  seat  in  the  Cape  cart  was  filled  Avith 
the  tinned  provisions  that  are  so  much  used  in  South 
Africa,  and  all  the  other  little  arrangements,  small  in  them- 
selves, but  of  such  infinite  importance  to  the  traveller  in  a 
wild  country,  were  duly  attended  to  by  her  careful  hands. 
Then  came  a  hurried  meal,  and  before  it  was  swallowed 
the  cart  was  at  the  door,  with  Jantje  hanging  as  usual  on 
to  the  heads  of  the  two  front  horses,  and  the  stalwart  Zulu, 
or  rather  Swazi  boy,  Monti,  whose  sole  luggage  appeared 
to  consist  of  a  bundle  of  assegais  and  sticks  wrapped  up 
in  a  grass  mat,  and  who,  hot  as  it  was,  was  enveloped  in  a 
vast  military  great-coat,  lounging  placidly  alongside. 

"  Good-bye,  John,  dear  John,"  said  Bessie,  kissing  him 
again  and  again,  and  striving  to  keep  back  the  tears  that, 
do  what  she  could,  would  gather  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  Good- 
bye, my  love." 

"  God  bless  you,  dearest,"  he  said,  simply,  kissing  her  in 
answer;  "  good-bye.  Mr.  Croft,  I  hope  to  see  you  again 
in  a  week,"  and  he  was  in  the  cart  and  had  gathered  up 
the  long  and  intricate  -  looking  reins.  Jantje  let  go  the 
horses'  heads  and  gave  a  whoop.  Mouti,  giving  up  star- 
gazing, suddenly  became  an  animated  being  and  scrambled 
into  the  cart  with  surprising  alacrity;  the  horses  sprang 
forward  at  a  hand  gallop,  and  were  soon  hidden  from  Bes- 
sie's dim  sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Poor  Bessie !  it  was  a 
hard  trial;  and  now  that  John  had  gone  and  her  tears 
could  not  distress  him,  she  went  into  her  room  and  gave 
way  to  them  freely  enough. 

John  reached  Luck's,  an  establishment  on  the  Pretoria 
road  that  happily  combined  the  characteristics  of  an  inn,  a 


134  JESS. 

shop,  and  a  farmhouse,  such  as  are  to  be  met  with  in 
sparsely  populated  countries.  It  was  not  an  inn  and  not  a 
farmhouse,  strictly  speaking,  nor  was  it  altogether  a  shop, 
though  there  was  a  "  store  "  attached.  If  the  traveller 
were  anxious  to  obtain  accommodation  for  man  and  beast 
at  a  place  of  this  stamp  he  had  to  proceed  warily,  so  to 
speak,  lest  he  should  be  requested  to  move  on.  He  must 
advance,  hat  in  hand,  and  ask  to  be  taken  in  as  a  favor,  as 
many  a  high-handed  traveller,  accustomed  to  the  obse- 
quious attentions  of  "  mine  host,"  has  learned  to  his  cost. 
There  is  no  such  dreadful  autocrat  as  your  half-and-half 
inn-keeper  in  South  Africa,  and  then  he  is  so  completely 
master  of  the  situation.  "  If  you  don't  like  it,  go  and  be 

d d  to  you,"  is  his  simple  answer  to  the  remonstrances  of 

the  infuriated  voyager.  And  then  you  must  either  knock 
under  and  look  as  though  you  liked  it,  or  trek  on  into  the 
"  unhostelled  "  wilderness.  On  this  occasion,  however, 
John  fared  well  enough.  To  begin  with,  he  knew  the 
owners  of  this  place,  who  were  very  civil  people  if  ap- 
proached in  an  humble  spirit,  and,  furthermore,  he  found 
everybody  in  such  a  state  of  unpleasurable  excitement 
that  they  were  only  too  glad  to  get  another  Englishman 
to  talk  matters  over  with.  Not  that  their  information 
amounted  to  much,  however.  There  was  a  rumor  of  the 
Bronker's  Spruit  disaster  and  other  rumors  of  the  invest- 
ment of  Pretoria,  and  of  the  advance  of  large  bodies  of 
Boers  to  take  possession  of  the  pass  over  the  Drakens- 
berg,  known  as  Laing's  Nek,  but  there  was  no  definite  in- 
telligence. 

"You  won't  get  into  Pretoria,"  said  one  melancholy 
man,  "  so  it's  no  use  trying.  The  Boers  will  just  catch 
you  and  kill  you,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  it.  You  had 
better  leave  the  girl  to  look  after  herself  and  go  back  to 
Mooifontein." 

But  this  was  not  John's  view  of  the  matter.  "  Well," 
he  said,  "  at  any  rate  I'll  have  a  try."  Indeed,  he  had  a 


JESS.  135 

sort  of  bull-dog  sentiment  about  him  that  led  him  to  be- 
lieve that,  if  he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  he  would 
do  it  somehow,  unless  he  should  be  physically  incapaci- 
tated by  circumstances  beyond  his  own  control.  It  is 
wonderful  how  far  a  mood  of  this  sort  will  take  a  man. 
Indeed,  it  is  the  widespread  possession  of  this  sentiment 
that  has  made  England  what  she  is.  Now  it  is  beginning 
to  die  down  and  be  legislated  out  of  our  national  charac- 
ter, and  the  results  are  already  commencing  to  appear  in 
the  incipient  decay  of  our  power.  We  cannot  govern 
Ireland.  It  is  beyond  us;  let  Ireland  have  Home  Rule  ! 
We  cannot  cope  with  our  imperial  responsibilities;  let 
them  be  cast  off;  and  so  on.  The  Englishmen  of  fifty 
years  ago  did  not  talk  like  this.  Well,  every  nation  be- 
comes emasculated  sooner  or  later,  that  seems  to  be  the 
universal  fate;  and  it  appears  that  it  is  our  lot  to  be  emas- 
culated, not  by  the  want  of  law,  but  by  a  plethora  of  it. 
This  country  was  made,  not  by  governments,  but  mostly 
in  despite  of  them  by  the  independent  efforts  of  a  series 
of  individuals.  The  tendency  nowadays  is  to  merge  the 
individual  in  the  government,  and  to  limit  and  even  forci- 
bly destroy  personal  enterprise  and  responsibility.  Every- 
thing is  to  be  legislated  for  or  legislated  against.  The 
system  is  only  in  its  bud  as  yet.  When  it  blooms  the  em- 
pire will  lose  touch  of  its  individual  atoms  and  become  a 
vast,  soulless  machine,  whi^h  will  first  get  out  of  order, 
then  break  down,  and,  last  of  all,  break  up.  We  owe 
more  to  sturdy,  determined,  unconvincible  Englishmen 
like  John  Niel  than  we  realize,  or,  perhaps,  should  be  will- 
ing to  acknowledge,  in  these  enlightened  days.  "Long 
live  the  caucus  !"  that  is  the  cry  of  the  nineteenth  cent- 
ury. But  what  will  Englishmen  cry  in  the  twentieth  ? 

John  was  off  again  on  his  perilous  journey  more  than  an 
hour  before  dawn  on  the  following  morning.  Nobody  was 
up  at  the  place,  and  as  it  was  practically  impossible  to  arouse 
the  slumbering  Kaffirs  from  the  various  holes  and  corners 


136  JESS. 

where  they  were  taking  their  rest — for  a  Kaffir  hates  the 
cold  of  the  dawning — Mouti  and  he  had  to  harness  the 
horses  and  get  them  inspanned  without  assistance,  and  an 
awkward  job  it  was  in  the  dark.  At  last,  however,  every- 
thing was  ready,  and,  as  the  bill  had  been  paid  over-night, 
there  was  nothing  to  wait  for,  so  they  clambered  into  the 
cart  and  made  a  start.  Before  they  had  proceeded  forty 
yards,  however,  John  heard  a  voice  calling  to  him  to  stop. 
He  did  so,  and  presently,  holding  a  lighted  candle  which 
burned  without  a  flicker  in  the  still,  damp  air,  and  draped 
from  head  to  foot  in  a  dingy-looking  blanket,  appeared 
the  male  Cassandra  of  the  previous  evening. 

He  advanced  slowly  and  with  dignity,  as  became  a 
prophet,  and  at  length  reached  the  side  of  the  cart,  where 
the  sight  of  his  illuminated  figure  and  the  dingy  blanket 
over  his  head  nearly  made  the  horses  run  away. 

"  What  is  it?"  said  John,  testily,  for  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  delay. 

"  I  thought  I'd  just  get  up  to  tell  you,"  replied  the 
draped  form,  "  that  I  was  quite  sure  that  I  am  right,  and 
that  the  Boers  will  shoot  you.  I  should  not  like  you  to 
say  afterwards  that  I  have  not  warned  you,"  and  he  held 
up  the  candle  so  that  the  light  fell  on  John's  face,  and 
gazed  at  it  in  fond  farewell. 

"  Curse  it  all,"  said  John,  in  a  fury,  "  if  that  was  all  you 
had  to  say  you  might  have  kept  in  bed,"  and  he  brought 
down  his  lash  on  the  wheelers  and  away  they  went  with  a 
bound,  putting  out  the  prophet's  candle  and  nearly  knock- 
ing the  prophet  himself  backward  into  the  sluit. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    ROUGH    JOURNEY. 

THE  four  grays  were  fresh  horses,  in  good  condition, 
and  with  a  light  load  behind  them,  so,  notwithstanding 
the  bad  condition  of  the  tracks  which  they  call  roads  in 
South  Africa,  John  made  good  progress. 

By  eleven  o'clock  that  day  he  had  reached  Standerton, 
a  little  town  upon  the  Vaal,  not  far  from  which  he  was 
destined,  had  he  but  known  it,  to  meet  with  a  sufficiently 
striking  experience.  Here  he  obtained  confirmation  of  the 
Bronker's  Spruit  disaster,  and  listened  with  set  face  and 
blazing  eyes  to  the  tale  of  treachery  and  wholesale  massa- 
cre which  was,  as  he  said,  without  a  parallel  in  the  annals 
of  civilized  war.  But,  after  all,  what  does  it  matter  ? — 
a  little  square  of  neglected  *  graves  at  Bronker's  Spruit,  a 
few  more  widows,  and  a  hundred  or  so  of  orphans.  Eng- 
land, by  her  government,  answered  the  question  plainly — 
it  matters  very  little. 

At  Standerton  John  was  again  warned  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  make  his  way  through  the  Boers  at 
Heidelberg,  a  town  about  sixty  miles  from  Pretoria,  where 
the  Triumvirate,  Kriiger,  Pretorius,  and  Joubert,  had  pro- 
claimed the  republic.  But  he  answered  as  before,  that 
he  must  go  on  till  he  was  stopped,  and,  inspanning  his 

•  *  This  word  is  used  advisedly.  About  a  year  ago  a  gentleman  whose 
home  is  in  the  Transvaal  wrote  to  ask  me  to  call  public  attention  to  the 
condition  of  the  graves  of  those  who  fell  at  Bronker's  Spruit,  which  he 
described  as  shocking.  I  am  not  aware,  however,  if  anything  has  since 
been  done  to  amend  this  state  of  things. — AUTHOR. 


138  JESS. 

horses,  set  forward  again,  a  little  comforted  by  the  news 
that  the  Bishop  of  Pretoria,  who  was  hurrying  up  to  rejoin 
his  family,  had  passed  through  a  few  hours  before,  also  in- 
tent upon  running  the  blockade,  and  that  if  he  drove  fast 
he  might  overtake  him. 

On  he  went,  hour  after  hour,  over  the  great  deserted 
plain,  but  he  did  not  succeed  in  catching  up  to  the  bishop. 
About  forty  miles  from  Standerton  he  saw  a  wagon  stand- 
ing by  the  roadside,  and  halted  to  see  if  he  could  get  any 
information  from  its  driver.  But  on  investigation  it  be- 
came clear  that  the  wagon  had  been  looted  of  the  pro- 
visions and  goods  with  which  it  was  loaded  and  the  oxen 
driven  off.  Nor  was  this  the  only  evidence  of  violence. 
Across  the  disselboom  of  the  wagon,  the  hands  still  clasp- 
ing a  long  bamboo  whip,  as  though  he  had  been  trying  to 
defend  himself  with  it,  lay  the  dead  body  of  the  native 
driver.  His  face,  John  noticed,  was  so  composed  and 
peaceful  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  attitude  and  a  neat 
little  blue  hole  in  the  forehead,  you  might  have  thought 
he  was  asleep  and  not  dead. 

At  sunset  John  outspanned  his  now  flagging  horses  by 
the  roadside,  and  gave  them  each  a  couple  of  bundles  of 
forage  from  the  store  that  he  had  brought  with  him. 
While  they  were  eating  it,  leaving  Mouti  to  keep  an  eye 
to  them,  he  went  some  way  off  and  sat  down  on  a  big  ant- 
heap  to  think.  It  was  a  wild  and  melancholy  scene  that 
stretched  away  before  and  behind  him.  Miles  upon  miles 
of  plain,  rolling  east  and  west  and  north  and  south,  like 
the  billows  of  a  frozen  sea,  only  broken,  far  along  the 
Heidelberg  road,  by  some  hills,  known  as  Rooi  Koppies. 
Nor  was  this  all.  Overhead  was  blazing  and  burning  one 
of  those  remarkable  sunsets  which  one  sometimes  sees  in 
summer  in  Africa.  The  sky  was  full  of  lowering  clouds, 
and  the  sullen  orb  of  the  setting  sun  had  stained  them 
perfectly  blood-red.  Blood-red  they  floated  through  the 
ominous  sky,  and  blood-red  their  shadows  lay  upon  the 


JESS.  139 

grass.  Even,  the  air  seemed  red.  It  looked  as  though 
earth  and  heaven  had  been  steeped  in  blood ;  and,  fresh  as 
John  was  from  the  sight  of  the  dead  driver,  his  ears  yet 
tingling  with  the  tale  of  Bronker's  Spruit,  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at  that  the  suggestive  sight  oppressed  him, 
seated  in  that  lonely  waste,  with  no  company  except  that 
melancholy  "  kakara-kakara "  of  an  old  black  koran  hid- 
den away  somewhere  in  the  grass.  He  was  not  much 
given  to  that  sort  of  thing,  but  he  did  begin  to  won- 
der whether  this  was  the  last  journey  of  all  the  many  he 
had  made  during  the  past  twenty  years,  and  if  a  Boer  bul- 
let was  about  to  solve  the  mystery  of  life  and  death  for  him. 
And  then  he  got  to  the  stage  of  depression  that  most 
people  have  made  acquaintance  with  at  one  time  or  another, 
when  one  begins  to  ask,  "  What  is  the  use  of  it  ?  Why 
were  we  born  ?  What  good  do  we  do  here  ?  Why 
should  we  be  (as  the  majority  of  mankind  doubtless  are) 
mere  animals  laden  up  with  sorrows  till  at  last  our  poor 
backs  break  ?  Is  God  powerful  or  powerless  ?  If  power- 
ful, why  did  he  not  let  us  sleep  in  peace,  without  setting 
us  here  to  taste  of  every  pain  and  mortification,  to  become 
acquainted  with  every  grief,  and  then  to  perish  misera- 
bly?" Old  questions  these,  which  the  cheerful  critic 
justly  condemns  as  morbid  and  futile,  and  not  to  be  dan- 
gled before  a  merry  world  of  make-believe.  And  perhaps 
they  are  right.  It  is  better  to  play  at  marbles  on  a  sepul- 
chre than  to  lift  the  lid  and  peep  inside.  But,  for  all  that, 
they  will  arise  when  we  sit  alone  at  even  in  our  individual 
wildernesses,  surrounded,  perhaps,  by  mementoes  of  our 
broken  hopes  and  tokens  of  our  beloved  dead,  strewn 
about  us  like  the  bleaching  bones  of  the  wild  game  on  the 
veldt,  and  in  spirit  watch  the  red  sun  of  our  existence 
sinking  towards  the  vapory  horizon.  They  will  come 
even  to  the  sanguine  successful  man.  One  cannot  always 
play  at  marbles;  the  lid  of  the  sepulchre  will  sometimes 
slip  aside  of  itself,  and  we  cannot  help  seeing.  Of  course, 


140  JESS. 

however,  it  depends  upon  the  disposition.  Some  people 
can,  metaphorically,  smoke  cigarettes  and  make  puns  by 
the  death-beds  of  their  dearest  friends,  or  even  on  their 
own.  One  should  pray  for  a  disposition  like  that  —  it 
makes  the  world  so  much  pleasanter. 

By  the  time  that  the  horses  had  done  their  forage  and 
Mouti  had  forced  the  bits  into  their  reluctant  mouths,  the 
angry  splendor  of  the  sunset  had  faded,  and  the  quiet 
night  was  falling  over  the  glowing  veldt  like  a  pall  on  one 
scarce  dead.  There  was,  fortunately  for  the  travellers,  a 
bright  half-moon,  and  by  its  light  John  managed  to  di- 
rect the  cart  over  many  a  weary  mile.  On  he  went  for 
hour  after  hour,  keeping  his  tired  horses  to  the  collar  as 
best  he  could,  till  at  last,  about  eleven  o'clock,  he  saw  the 
lights  of  Heidelberg  before  him,  and  knew  that  the  ques- 
tion of  whether  or  not  his  journey  was  at  an  end  would 
speedily  be  decided  for  him.  However,  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  go  on  and  take  his  chance  of  slipping 
through.  Presently  he  crossed  a  little  stream,  and  made 
out  the  shape  of  a  cart  just  ahead,  around  which  men  and 
a  couple  of  lanterns  were  moving.  No  doubt,  he  thought 
to  himself,  it  was  the  bishop,  who  had  been  stopped  by 
the  Boers.  He  was  quite  close  to  the  cart  when  it  moved 
on,  and  in  another  second  he  was  greeted  by  the  rough 
challenge  of  a  sentry,  and  caught  sight  of  the  cold  gleam 
of  a  rifle  barrel. 

"Wieda?"  (Who's  there  ?) 

"Friend!"  he  answered,  cheerfully,  though  feeling  far 
from  cheerful. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the  sentry  called  to  an- 
other man,  who  came  up  yawning,  and  saying  something 
in  Dutch.  Straining  his  ears  he  caught  the  words,  "  Bish- 
op's man,"  and  this  gave  him  an  idea. 

"  Who  are  you,  Englishman  ?"  asked  the  second  man, 
gruffly,  holding  up  a  lantern  to  look  at  John,  and  speaking 
in  English. 


JESS.  141 

"I  am  the  bishop's  chaplain,  sir,"  he  answered,  mildly, 
trying  desperately  to  look  like  an  unoffending  clergyman, 
"  and  I  want  to  get  on  to  Pretoria  with  him." 

The  man  with  the  lantern  inspected  him  closely.  Fort- 
unately he  had  on  a  dark  coat  and  a  clerical-looking  black 
felt  hat;  the  same  that  Frank  Muller  had  put  a  bullet 
through. 

"  He  is  a  preacher  fast  enough,"  said  the  one  man  to  the 
other.  "  Look,  he  is  dressed  like  an  old  crow  !  What 
did  '  Om  '  Kruger's  pass  say,  Jan  ?  Was  it  two  carts  or 
one  that  we  were  to  let  through?  I  think  that  it  was 
one." 

The  other  man  scratched  his  head. 

"  I  think  it  was  two,"  he  said.  He  did  not  like  to  con- 
fess to  his  comrade  that  he  could  not  read.  "  No,  I  am 
sure  that  it  was  two." 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  send  up  to  Om  Kriiger  and 
ask  ?"  suggested  the  first  man. 

"  Om  Krflger  will  be  in  bed,  and  he  puts  up  his  quills 
like  a  porcupine  if  one  wakes  him,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  let  us  keep  the  d d  preaching  Englishman 

till  to-morrow." 

"  Pray  let  me  go  on,  gentlemen,"  said  John,  still  in  his 
mildest  voice.  "  I  am  wanted  to  preach  the  word  at  Pre- 
toria, and  to  watch  by  the  wounded  and  dying." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  first  man,  "  there  will  soon  be 
plenty  of  wounded  and  dying  there.  They  will  all  be 
like  the  rooibaatjes  at  Bronker's  Spruit.  Lord,  what  a 
sight  that  was !  But,  they  will  get  the  bishop,  so  they 
won't  want  you.  You  can  stop  and  look  after  our  wound- 
ed, if  the  rooibaatjes  manage  to  hit  any  of  us."  And  he 
beckoned  to  him  to  come  out  of  the  cart. 

"Hullo  !"  said  the  other  man,  "  here  is  a  bag  of  mealies. 
We  will  commandeer  that  anyhow."  And  he  took  his 
knife  and  cut  the  line  with  which  the  sack  was  fastened 
to  the  back  of  the  cart,  so  that  it  fell  to  the  ground.  "  That 


142  JESS. 

will  feed  our  horses  for  a  week,"  he  said,  with  a  chuckle, 
in  which  the  other  man  joined.  It  was  pleasant  to  become 
so  easily  possessed  of  an  unearned  increment  in  the  shape 
of  a  bag  of  mealies. 

"  Well,  are  we  to  let  the  old  crow  go  ?"  said  the  first 
man. 

"  If  we  don't  let  him  go  we  shall  have  to  take  him  up 
to  headquarters,  and  I  want  to  go  to  sleep."  And  he 
yawned. 

"  Well,  let  him  go,"  answered  the  other.  "  I  think  you 
are  right.  The  pass  said  two  carts.  Be  off,  you  d — - — d 
preaching  Englishman  !" 

John  did  not  wait  for  any  more,  but  laid  the  whip  across 
the  horses'  backs  with  a  will. 

"  I  hope  we  did  right,"  said  the  man  with  the  lantern 
to  the  other  as  the  cart  bumped  off.  "  I  am  not  sure  he 
was  a  parson  after  all.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  send  a  bul- 
let after  him."  But  his  companion,  who  was  very  sleepy, 
gave  no  encouragement  to  the  idea,  so  it  dropped. 

On  the  following  morning,  when  Commandant  Frank 
Muller — having  heard  that  his  enemy  John  Niel  was  on 
his  way  up  with  the  Cape  cart  and  four  gray  horses — 
ascertained  that  a  vehicle  answering  to  that  description 
had  been  allowed  to  pass  through  Heidelberg  in  the  dead 
of  night,  his  state  of  mind  may  better  be  imagined  than 
described. 

As  for  the  two  sentries,  he  had  them  tried  by  court- 
martial  and  set  them  to  make  fortifications  for  the  rest  of 
the  rebellion.  They  can  neither  of  them  now  hear  the 
name  of  a  clergyman  mentioned  without  breaking  out  into 
a  perfect  flood  of  blasphemy. 

Luckily  for  John,  although  he  had  been  delayed  for  five 
minutes  or  more,  he  managed  to  overtake  the  cart  in  which 
he  presumed  the  bishop  was  ensconced.  His  lordship  had 
been  providentially  delayed  by  the  breaking  of  a  trace  ; 
otherwise,  it  is  clear  that  his  self-nominated  chaplain 


JESS.  143 

would  never  have  got  through  the  steep  streets  of  Heidel- 
berg that  night.  The  whole  town  was  choked  up  with 
Boer  wagons,  full  now  of  sleeping  Boers.  Over  one  batch 
of  wagons  and  tents  John  made  out  the  Transvaal  flag 
fluttering  idly  in  the  night  breeze,  and  emblazoned  with 
the  appropriate  emblem  of  an  ox-wagon  and  an  armed 
Boer,  marking,  no  doubt,  the  headquarters  of  the  trium- 
virate. Once  the  -cart  ahead  of  him  was  stopped  by  a 
sentry,  and  some  conversation  ensued.  Then  it  went  on 
again  ;  and  so  did  John,  unmolested.  It  was  weary  work, 
that  journey  through  Heidelberg,  and  full  of  terrors  for 
John,  who  every  moment  expected  to  be  stopped  and 
dragged  off  ignominiously  to  jail.  The  horses,  too,  were 
dead  beat,  and  made  frantic  attempts  to  turn  and  stop  at 
every  house.  But,  somehow,  they  got  through  the  little 
place,  and  then  were  stopped  once  more.  Again  the 
first  cart  got  on  ahead,  but  this  time  John  was  not  so 
lucky. 

"  The  pass  said  one  cart,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Yah,  yah,  one  cart,"  answered  another. 

John  again  put  on  his  clerical  air  and  told  his  artless 
tale  ;  but  neither  of  the  men  could  understand  English,  so 
they  went  to  a  wagon  that  was  standing'  about  fifty  yards 
away,  to  fetch  somebody  who  could. 

"  Now,  inkoos,"  whispered  the  Zulu  Mouti,  "  drive  on  ! 
drive  on !" 

John  took  the  hint,  and  lashed  the  horses  with  his  long 
whip  ;  while  Mouti,  bending  forward  over  the  splashboard, 
thrashed  the  wheelers  with  a  sjambock.  Off  went  the 
team  in  a  spasmodic  gallop,  and  had  covered  a  hundred 
yards  of  ground  before  the  two  sentries  realized  what  had 
happened.  Then  they  began  to  run  after  the  cart  shout- 
ing, but  were  soon  lost  in  the  darkness. 

John  and  Mouti  did  not  spare  the  whip,  but  pressed  on 
up  the  stony  hills  on  the  Pretoria  side  of  Heidelberg  with- 
out a  halt.  They  were,  however,  unable  to  keep  up  with 


144  JESS. 

the  cart  ahead  of  them,  which  was  evidently  more  freshly 
horsed.  About  midnight,  too,  the  moon  vanished  alto- 
gether, and  they  had  to  creep  on  as  best  they  could  through 
the  darkness.  Indeed,  so  dark  was  it,  that  Monti  was 
obliged  to  get  out  and  lead  the  exhausted  horses,  one  of 
which  would  now  and  again  fall  down,  and  have  to  be 
cruelly  flogged  before  it  would  rise.  Once,  too,  the  cart 
very  nearly  upset;  and  on  another  occasion  was  within  an 
inch  or  two  of  rolling  down  a  precipice. 

This  went  on  till  two  in  the  morning,  when  John  found 
that  it  was  impossible  to  get  the  wearied  beasts  a  yard 
farther.  So,  having  luckily  come  to  some  water  about 
fifteen  miles  out  of  Heidelberg,  he  halted,  and,  having  let 
the  horses  drink,  gave  them  as  much  forage  as  they  could 
eat.  One  lay  down  at  once,  and  refused  to  touch  anything 
— a  sure  sign  of  great  exhaustion  ;  another  ate  lying  down ; 
but  the  other  two  filled  themselves  in  a  satisfactory  way. 
Then  came  a  weary  wait  for  the  dawn.  Mouti  slept  a  lit- 
tle, but  John  did  not  dare  to  do  so.  All  he  could  do  was 
to  eat  a  little  "  biltong "  (dried  game  flesh)  and  bread, 
drink  some  square-face  and  water,  and  then  sit  down  in 
the  cart,  his  rifle  between  his  knees,  and  wait  for  the  light. 
At  last  it  came,  lying  on  the  eastern  sky  like  a  promise, 
and  he  once  more  fed  the  horses.  And  now  a  new  diffi- 
culty arose.  The  animal  that  would  not  eat  was  clearly 
too  weak  to  pull,  so  the  harness  had  to  be  altered,  and  the 
three  sound  animals  harnessed  unicorn  fashion,  while  the 
sick  one  was  fastened  to  the  rear  of  the  cart.  Then  they 
got  off  again. 

By  eleven  o'clock  they  reached  a  hotel,  or  wayside 
house,  known  as  Ferguson's,  and  situate  about  twenty 
miles  from  Pretoria.  It  was  empty,  except  for  a  couple 
of  cats  and  a  stray  dog.  The  inhabitants  had  evidently 
fled  from  the  Boers.  Here  John  stabled  and  fed  his 
horses,  giving  them  all  that  remained  of  the  forage  ;  and 
then,  once  more,  started  on  for  the  last  stage.  The  road 


JESS.  145 

was  dreadful  ;  and  he  knew  that  the  country  must  be  full 
of  hostile  Boers,  but  fortunately  he  met  none.  It  took 
him  four  hours  to  get  over  the  twenty  miles  of  ground ; 
but  it  was  not  until  he  got  to  the  "  Poort,"  or  neck  run- 
ning down  into  Pretoria,  that  he  saw  a  vestige  of  a  Boer. 
Then  he  made  out  two  mounted  men  riding  along  the  top 
of  a  precipitous  stone-strewn  ridge,  some  six  hundred 
yards  or  so  from  him.  At  first  he  thought  that  they  were 
going  to  descend  it,  but  presently  they  changed  their 
minds  and  got  off  their  horses. 

While  he  was  still  wondering  what  this  might  portend, 
he  saw  a  puff  of  white  smoke  float  up  from  where  the  men 
were,  and  then  another.  Then  came  the  sharp,  unmistak- 
able "ping"  of  a  bullet  passing,  as  far  as  he  could  judge, 
within  some  three  feet  of  his  head,  followed  by  a  second 
"  ping,"  and  a  cloud  of  dust  beneath  the  belly  of  the  first' 
horse.  The  two  Boers  were  firing  at  him. 

He  did  not  wait  for  any  more  target  practice,  but,  thrash- 
ing the  horses  to  a  canter,  got  the  cart  round  a  projecting 
bank  before  they  could  load  and  fire  again.  After  that, 
he  saw  no  more  of  them. 

At  last  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Poort,  and  saw  the 
prettiest  of  the  South  African  towns,  with  its  red-and- 
white  houses,  its  tall  clumps  of  trees,  and  pink  lines  of 
blooming  rose  hedges  lying  on  the  plain  before  him,  all 
set  in  the  green  veldt,  and  made  beautiful  by  the  golden 
light  of  the  afternoon,  and  he  thanked  Cod  for  the  sight. 
He  knew  that  he  was  safe  now,  and  let  his  tired  horses  walk 
slowly  down  the  hillside  and  across  the  bit  of  plain  beyond. 
To  his  left  were  the  jail  and  the  barrack-sheds,  and  gath- 
ered about  them  were  hundreds  of  wagons  and  tents,  tow- 
ards which  he  drove.  Evidently  the  town  was  deserted 
and  its  inhabitants  in  laager.  When  he  got  within  half 
a  mile  or  so,  a  picket  of  mounted  men  came  riding  tow- 
ards him,  followed  by  a  miscellaneous  crowd  on  horseback 
and  on  foot. 
10 


146  JESS. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  shouted  a  voice  in  honest  English. 

"A  friend  who  is  uncommonly  glad  to  see  you,"  he 
answered,  with  that  feeble  jocosity  we  are  all  apt  to  in- 
dulge in  when  a  great  weight  is  at  length  lifted  from  our 
nerves. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PRETORIA. 

JESS  did  not  have  a  very  happy  time  of  it  at  Pretoria 
previous  to  the  outbreak  of  hostilities.  Most  people  who 
have  made  a  great  moral  effort,  and  after  a  severe  mental 
struggle  entered  on  the  drear  path  of  self-sacrifice,  have 
experienced  the  reaction  that  will  follow  as  certainly  as 
the  night  follows  the  day.  It  is  one  thing  to  renounce  the 
light,  to  stand  in  the  full  glow  of  the  setting  beams  of  our 
imperial  joy  and  chant  out  our  farewell,  and  quite  another 
to  live  alone  in  the  darkness.  For  a  little  while  memory 
may  support  us,  but  memory  grows  faint.  On  every  side 
is  the  thick,  cheerless  pall  and  the  stillness  through  which 
no  sound  comes.  We  are  alone,  quite  alone,  cut  off  from 
the  fellowship  of  the  day,  unseeing  and  unseen.  More 
especially  is  this  so  when  our  dungeon  is  of  our  own  mak- 
ing, and  we  ourselves  have  shot  its  bolts.  There  is  a 
natural  night  that  comes  to  all,  and  in  its  unwavering 
course  swallows  every  hope  and  fear,  forever  and  forever. 
To  this  we  can  more  easily  resign  ourselves,  for  we  recog- 
nize the  universal  lot  and  bow  ourselves  beneath  the  all- 
effacing  hand.  The  earth  does  not  pine  when  the  day- 
light passes  from  its  peaks  ;  it  only  sleeps. 

But  Jess  had  buried  herself,  and  she  knew  it.  There 
was  no  absolute  need  for  her  to  have  resigned  her  affec- 
tion to  her  sister's  ;  she  had  done  so  of  her  own  will,  and 
at  times  she  naturally  enough  regretted  it.  Self-denial  is 
a  stern-faced  angel.  If  only  we  hold  him  fast  and  wrestle 
with  him  long  enough  he  will  speak  us  soft  words  of  hap- 


148  JESS. 

py  sound,  just  as,  if  we  wait  long  enough  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  stars  will  come  to  share  our  loneliness.  Still 
this  is  one  of  those  things  that  Time  hides  from  us  and  only 
reveals  at  his  own  pleasure  ;  and,  so  far  as  Jess  was  con- 
cerned, his  pleasure  was  not  yet.  Outwardly,  however,  she 
showed  no  sign  of  her  distress  and  of  the  passion  which 
was  eating  at  her  heart.  She  was  pale  and  silent,  it  is 
true,  but  then  she  had  always  been  remarkable  for  her 
pallor  and  silence.  Only  she  gave  up  her  singing. 

And  so  the  weeks  went  on,  drearily  enough  for  the  poor 
girl,  who  was  doing  what  other  people  did  —  eating  and 
drinking,  riding  and  going  to  parties  like  the  rest  of  the 
Pretoria  world,  till  at  last  she  began  to  think  that  she  had 
better  be  going  home  again,  lest  she  should  wear  out  her 
welcome.  And  yet  she  dreaded  to  do  so,  mindful  of  her 
daily  prayer  to  be  delivered  from  temptation.  As  to  what 
was  going  on  at  Mooifontein  she  was  in  almost  complete 
ignorance.  Bessie  wrote  to  her,  of  course,  and  so  did  her 
uncle  once  or  twice,  but  they  did  not  tell  her  much  of 
what  she  wanted  to  know.  '  Bessie's  letters  were,  it  is  true, 
full  of  allusions  to  what  Captain  Niel  was  doing,  but  she 
did  not  go  beyond  that.  Her  reticence,  however,  told  her 
observant  sister  more  than  her  words.  Why  was  she  so 
reticent  ?  No  doubt  because  things  still  hung  in  the  bal- 
ance. And  then  she  would  think  of  what  it  all  meant  for 
her,  and  now  and  again  give  way  to  an  outburst  of  pas- 
sionate jealousy  which  would  have  been  painful  enough  to 
witness  if  anybody  could  have  been  there  to  see  it. 

And  so  the  time  went  on  towards  Christmas,  for  Jess, 
having  been  warmly  pressed  to  do  so,  had  settled  to  stay 
over  Christmas  and  return  to  the  farm  with  the  new  year. 
There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  the  town  about  the 
Boers,  but  she  was  too  much  preoccupied  with  her  own 
affairs  to  pay  much  attention  to  it.  Nor,  indeed,  was  the 
public  mind  greatly  moved  ;  they  were  so  much  accus- 
tomed to  Boer  scares  at  Pretoria,  and  hitherto  they  had 


JESS.  149 

invariably  ended  in  smoke.  And  then  all  of  a  sudden,  on 
the  morning  of  the  eighteenth  of  December,  came  the 
news  of  the  proclamation  of  the  republic,  and  the  town 
was  thrown  into  a  ferment,  and  there  was  a  talk  of  going 
into  laager,  and,  anxious  as  she  was  to  get  away,  Jess  could 
see  no  hope  of  returning  to  the  farm  till  the  excitement 
was  over.  Then,  a  day  or  two  later,  Conductor  Egerton 
came  limping  into  Pretoria  from  the  scene  of  the  disaster 
at  Bronker's  Spruit  with  the  colors  of  the  94th  Regiment 
tied  round  his  middle,  and  such  a  tale  to  tell  that  the  blood 
went  to  her  heart  and  seemed  to  stagnate  there  as  she  lis- 
tened to  it. 

And  after  that  there  was  confusion  worse  confounded. 
Martial  law  was  proclaimed,  and  the  town,  which  was  large, 
straggling,  and  incapable  of  defence,  was  abandoned,  the 
inhabitants  being  ordered  into  laager  on  the  high  ground 
overlooking  the  city.  There  they  were,  young  and  old, 
sick  and  well,  delicate  women  and  little  children,  all 
crowded  together  in  the  open  under  the  cover  of  the  fort, 
with  nothing  but  canvas  tents,  wagons,  and  sheds  to  shelter 
them  from  the  fierce  summer  suns  and  rains.  Jess  had  to 
share  a  wagon  with  her  friend  and  her  friend's  sister  and 
mother,  and  found  it  rather  a  tight  fit  even  to  lie  down. 
Sleep,  with  all  the  noises  of  the  camp  going  on  round  her, 
was  a  practical  impossibility. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  on  the  day  following  that  first 
miserable  night  in  the  laager  when,  by  the  last  mail  that 
passed  into  Pretoria,  she  got  Bessie's  letter,  announcing 
her  engagement  to  John.  She  took  her  letter  and  went 
some  way  from  the  camp  to  the  side  of  Signal  Hill,  where 
she  was  not  likely  to  be  disturbed,  and,  finding  a  nook 
shaded  in  by  mimosa-trees,  sat  down  and  broke  the  en- 
velope. Before  she  had  got  to  the  foot  of  the  first  page 
she  saw  what  was  coming  and  set  her  teeth.  Then  she 
read  the  long  letter  through  from  beginning  to  end  with- 
out flinching,  though  the  words  of  affection  seemed  to 


150  JESS. 

burn  her.  So  it  had  come  at  last.  Well,  she  expected  it, 
and  had  plotted  to  bring  it  about,  so  really  there  was  no 
reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  feel  disappointed. 
On  the  contrary,  she  ought  to  rejoice,  and  for  a  little 
while  she  really  did  rejoice  in  her  sister's  happiness.  It 
made  her  happy  to  think  that  Bessie,  whom  she  dearly 
loved,  was  happy. 

And  yet  she  felt  angry  with  John  with  that  sort  of 
anger  which  we  feel  against  those  who  have  blindly  in- 
jured us.  Why  should  he  have  it  in  his  power  to  hurt 
her  so?  Still  she  hoped  that  he  would  be  happy  with 
Bessie,  and  then  she  hoped  that  these  wretched  Boers 
would  take  Pretoria,  and  that  she  would  be  shot  or  put 
out  of  the  way  somehow.  She  had  no  heart  for  life  ;  all 
the  color  had  faded  from  her  sky.  What  was  she  to  do 
with  herself?  Marry  somebody  and  busy  herself  with 
rearing  a  pack  of  children  ?  It  would  be  a  physical  im- 
possibility to  her.  No,  she  would  go  away  to  Europe  and 
mix  in  the  great  stream  of  life  and  struggle  with  it,  and 
see  if  she  could  win  a  place  for  herself  among  the  people 
of  her  day.  She  had  it  in  her,  she  knew  that ;  and  now 
that  she  had  put  herself  out  of  the  reach  of  passion  she 
would  be  more  likely  to  succeed,  for  success  is  to  the  im- 
passive, who  are  also  the  strong.  She  would  not  stop  on 
the  farm  after  John  and  Bessie  were  married ;  she  was 
quite  clear  as  to  that ;  nor,  if  she  could  avoid  it,  would  she 
return  there  before  they  were  married.  She  would  see 
him  no  more,  no  more  !  Alas,  that  she  had  ever  seen 
him. 

Feeling  somewhat  happier,  or  at  any  rate  calmer,  in  this 
determination,  she  rose  to  return  to  the  noisy  camp,  ex- 
tending her  walk,  however,  by  making  a  detour  towards 
the  Heidelberg  road,  for  she  was  anxious  to  be  as  long 
alone  as  she  could.  She  had  been  walking  some  ten  min- 
utes when  she  caught  sight  of  a  cart  that  seemed  famil- 
iar to  her,  with  three  horses  harnessed  in  front  of  it  and 


JESS.  151 

one  tied  on  behind,  which  were  also  familiar.  There  were 
a  lot  of  men  walking  alongside  of  the  cart,  all  talking 
eagerly.  She  halted  to  let  the  little  procession  go  by,  when 
suddenly  she  perceived  John  Niel  among  the  men  and  rec- 
ognized the  Zulu  Mouti  on  the  box.  There  was  the  man 
whom  she  had  just  vowed  never  to  see  again,  and  the  sight 
of  him  seemed  to  take  all  her  strength  out  of  her,  so  that 
she  felt  inclined  to  sink  involuntarily  upon  the  veldt.  His 
sudden  appearance  was  almost  uncanny  in  the  sharpness  of 
its  illustration  of  her  impotence  in  the  hands  of  Fate.  She 
felt  it  then  ;  all  in  an  instant  it  seemed  to  be  borne  in  upon 
her  mind  that  she  could  not  help  herself,  but  was  only  the 
instrument  in  the  hands  of  a  superior  power  whose  will  she 
was  fulfilling  through  the  workings  of  her  passion,  and  to 
whom  her  individual  fate  was  a  matter  of  little  moment. 
It  was  inconclusive  reasoning  and  perilous  doctrine,  but  it 
must  be  allowed  that  the  circumstances  gave  it  the  color 
of  truth.  And,  after  all,  the  border-line  between  fatalism 
and  free-will  has  never  been  quite  authoritatively  settled, 
even  by  St.  Paul,  so  perhaps  she  was  right.  Mankind  does 
not  like  to  admit  it,  but  it  is,  at  the  least,  a  question  whether 
we  can  oppose  our  little  wills  against  the  forces  of  the  uni- 
versal law,  or  derange  the  details  of  the  unvarying  plan  to 
suit  the  petty  wants  and  hopes  of  individual  mortality. 
Jess  was  a  clever  woman,  but  it  would  take  a  wiser  head 
than  hers  to  know  where  or  when  to  draw  that  red  line 
across  the  writings  of  our  life. 

On  came  the  cart  and  the  knot  of  men,  and  then  sudden- 
ly John  looked  up  and  saw  her  looking  at  him  with  those 
dark  eyes  that  did,  indeed,  seem  at  times  as  though  they 
were  the  windows  of  her  soul.  He  turned  and  said  some- 
thing to  his  companions  and  to  the  Zulu  Mouti,  who  went 
on  with  the  cart,  and  then  came  towards  her  smiling  and 
with  outstretched  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jess  ?"  he  said.  "  So  I  have  found 
you  all  right  ?" 


152  JESS. 

She  took  his  hand  and  answered,  almost  angrily,  "  Why 
have  you  come?  Why  did  you  leave  Bessie  and  my 
uncle  ?" 

"  I  came  because  I  was  sent,  and  also  because  I  wished 
to.  I  wanted  to  get  you  back  home  before  Pretoria  was 
besieged." 

"  You  must  have  been  mad  !  How  could  you  expect 
to  get  back?  We  shall  both  be  shut  up  here  together 
now." 

"  So  it  appears.  Well,  things  might  be  worse,"  he  added, 
cheerfully. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  anything  could  be  worse,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  and  then,  quite  thrown 
off  her  balance,  burst  incontinently  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

John  Niel  was  a  very  simple-minded  man,  and  it  never 
struck  him  to  attribute  her  grief  to  any  other  cause  than 
anxiety  at  the  state  of  affairs  and  at  her  incarceration  for 
an  indefinite  period  in  a  besieged  town  that  ran  the  daily 
risk  of  being  taken  m  et  armis.  Still  he  was  a  little  hurt 
at  the  manner  of  his  reception  after  his  long  and  most 
perilous  journey,  which  is  not,  perhaps,  to  be  wondered  at. 

"  Well,  Jess,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  you  might  speak  a 
little  more  kindly  to  me,  considering  —  considering  all 
things.  There,  don't  cry,  they  are  all  right  at  Mooifon- 
tein,  and  I  dare  say  that  we  shall  get  back  there  somehow 
sometime  or  other.  I  had  a  nice  business  to  get  here  at 
all,  I  can  tell  you." 

She  suddenly  stopped  weeping  and  smiled,  her  tears 
passing  away  like  a  summer  storm.  "  How  did  you  get 
through?"  she  asked.  "Tell  me  all  about  it,  Captain 
Niel;"  and  accordingly  he  did. 

She  listened  in  silence  while  he  sketched  the  chief  events 
of  his  journey,  and  when  he  had  done  she  spoke  in  quite  a 
changed  tone. 

"It  is  very  good  and  kind  of  you  to  have  risked  your 
life  like  this  for  me.  Only  I  wonder  that  you  did  not  all 


JESS.  153 

of  you  see  that  it  would  be  of  no  use.  We  shall  both  be 
shut  up  here  together  now,  that  is  all,  and  that  will  be  very 
sad  for  you  and  Bessie." 

"Oh.  So  you  have  heard  of  our  engagement?"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  I  got  Bessie's  letter  about  a  couple  of  hours  ago, 
and  I  congratulate  you  both  very  much.  I  think  that  you 
will  have  the  sweetest  and  loveliest  wife  in  South  Africa, 
Captain  Niel ;  and  I  think  that  Bessie  will  have  a  husband 
any  woman  might  be  proud  of  ;"  and  she  half  bowed  and 
half  courtesied  to  him  as  she  said  it,  with  a  graceful  little 
air  of  dignity  that  was  very  taking. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply;  "  yes,  I  think  I  am  a  very- 
lucky  fellow." 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  we  had  better  go  and  see  about 
the  cart.  You  must  be  very  tired  and  hungry;"  and  they 
started. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  the  cart,  which 
Monti  had  outspanned  close  to  Mrs.  Neville's  wagon,  where 
Jess  and  her  friends  were  living,  and  the  first  person  they 
saw  was  Mrs.  Neville  herself.  She  was  a  good,  motherly 
colonial  woman,  accustomed  to  a  rough  life,  and  not  easily 
disturbed  by  an  emergency  like  the  present. 

"My  goodness,  Captain  Niel!"  she  cried,  as  soon  as  Jess 
had  introduced  him.  "Well,  you  are  plucky  to  have 
forced  your  way  through  all  those  horrid  Boers !  I  am 
sure  I  wonder  that  they  did  not  shoot  you  or  beat  you  to 
death  with  sjambocks,  the  brutes.  Not  that  there  is  much 
use  in  your  coming,  for  you  will  never  be  able  to  get  Jess 
back  till  Sir  George  Colley  relieves  us,  and  that  can't  be 
for  two  months,  they  say.  Well,  there  is  one  thing;  Jess 
will  be  able  to  sleep  in  the  cart  now,  and  you  can  get  one 
of  the  patrol-tents  and  sleep  alongside.  It  won't  be  quite 
proper,  perhaps,  but  in  these  times  we  can't  stop  to  con- 
sider propriety.  There,  there,  you  go  off  to  the  governor. 
He  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  you,  I'll  be  bound.  I  saw 


154  JESS. 

him  at  the  other  end  of  the  camp,  there,  five  minutes  ago, 
and  we  will  have  the  cart  arranged  and  see  all  about  it." 

Thus  abjured,  John  departed,  and  when  he  returned  half 
an  hour  afterwards,  having  told  his  eventful  tale,  which 
did  not,  however,  convey  any  information  of  general  value, 
he  was  rejoiced  to  find  the  process  of  "getting  things 
straight "  was  in  good  progress.  What  was  better  still, 
Jess  had  fried  him  a  beefsteak  over  the  camp-fire,  and  was 
now  employed  in  serving  it  on  a  little  table  by  the  wagon. 
He  sat  down  on  a  camp-stool  and  ate  his  meal  heartily 
enough,  while  Jess  waited  on  him  and  Mrs.  Neville  chat- 
tered away. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  said,  "  Jess  tells  me  that  you  are 
going  to  marry  her  sister.  Well,  I  wish  you  joy.  A  man 
wants  a  wife  in  a  country  like  this.  It  isn't  like  England, 
where  in  five  cases  out  of  six  he  might  as  well  go  and  cut 
his  throat  as  get  married.  It  saves  him  money  here,  and 
children  are  a  blessing,  as  nature  meant  them  to  be,  and 
not  a  burden,  as  civilization  has  made  them.  Lord,  how 
my  tongue  does  run  on  !  It  isn't  delicate  to  talk  about 
children  when  you  have  only  been  engaged  a  couple  of 
weeks;  but,  you  see,  that's  what  it  all  comes  to  after  all. 
She's  a  pretty  girl,  Bessie,  and  a  good  one,  too — I  don't 
know  her  much — though  she  hasn't  got  the  brains  of  Jess 
here.  That  reminds  me;  as  you  are  engaged  to  Bessie,  of 
course  you  can  look  after  Jess,  and  nobody  will  think  any- 
thing of  it.  Ah!  if  you  only  knew  what  a  place  this  is 
for  talk,  though  their  talk  is  pretty  well  scared  out  of  them 
now,  I'm  thinking.  My  husband  is  coming  round  pres- 
ently to  the  cart  to  help  get  Jess's  bed  into  it.  Lucky  it's 
big.  We  are  such  a  tight  fit  in  that  wagon  that  I  shall  be 
downright  glad  to  see  the  last  of  the  dear  girl;  though,  of 
course,  you'll  both  come  and  take  your  meals  with  us." 

Jess  heard  all  this  in  silence.  She  could  not  well  insist 
upon  stopping  in  the  crowded  wagon;  it  would  be  asking 
too  much;  and,  besides,  she  had  had  one  night  in  the  wagon, 


JESS.  155 

and  that  was  quite  enough  for  her.  Once  she  suggested 
that  she  would  see  if  she  could  not  get  the  nuns  to  take 
her  in  at  the  convent,  but  Mrs.  Neville  instantly  suppressed 
the  notion. 

"Nuns!"  she  said;  "nonsense.  When  your  own  broth- 
er-in-law— at  least  he  will  be  your  brother-in-law  if  the 
Boers  don't  make  an  end  of  us  all — is  here  to  take  care  of 
you,  don't  talk  about  going  to  a  parcel  of  nuns.  It  will  be 
as  much  as  they  can  do  to  look  after  themselves,  I'll  be 
bound." 

As  for  John,  he  ate  his  steak  and  said  nothing.  The 
arrangement  seemed  a  very  proper  one  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    TWELFTH    OF    FEBRUARY. 

JOHN  soon  settled  down  into  the  routine  of  camp  life  in 
Pretoria,  which,  after  one  once  got  accustomed  to  it,  was 
not  so  disagreeable  as  might  have  been  expected,  and  pos- 
sessed, at  any  rate,  the  merit  of  novelty.  Although  he 
was  an  officer  of  the  army,  John  preferred,  on  the  whole, 
having  several  horses  to  ride,  and,  his  services  not  being 
otherwise  required,  to  enroll  himself  in  the  corps  of  mount- 
ed volunteers  known  as  the  Pretoria  Carbineers,  in  the 
humble  capacity  of  a  sergeant,  and  this  he  obtained  leave 
to  do  from  the  officer  commanding  the  troops.  He  was  an 
active  man,  and  his  duties  in  connection  with  the  corps 
kept  him  fully  employed  during  most  of  the  day,  and 
sometimes,  when  there  was  outpost  duty  to  be  done,  dur- 
ing a  good  part  of  the  night  too.  For  the  rest,  whenever 
he  got  back  to  the  cart — by  which  he  had  stipulated  he 
should  be  allowed  to  sleep  in  order  to  protect  Jess  in  case 
of  any  danger — he  always  found  her  ready  to  greet  him, 
and  every  little  preparation  made  for  his  comfort  that  was 
possible  under  the  circumstances.  Indeed,  as  time  went 
on  they  found  it  more  convenient  to  set  up  their  own 
little  mess  instead  of  sharing  that  of  their  friends,  and  so 
they  used  every  day  to  sit  down  and  breakfast  and  dine 
together  at  a  little  table  rigged  up  out  of  a  packing-case, 
and  placed  under  an  extemporary  tent,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  young  couple  picnicking  on  their  honeymoon.  Of 
course  the  whole  thing  was  very  irksome  in  a  way,  but  it 
is  not,  '  -  be  denied  that  it  had  a  charm  of  its  own,  To 


JESS.  157 

begin  with,  Jess,  when  once  one  got  thoroughly  to  know 
her,  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  companions  to  a  man 
like  John  Niel  that  it  was  possible  to  meet  with.  Never, 
till  this  long  t&e-d-tete  at  Pretoria,  had  he  guessed  how 
powerful  and  original  was  her  mind,  or  how  witty  she 
could  be  when  she  liked.  There  was  a  fund  of  dry  and 
suggestive  humor  about  her,  which,  although  it  would  no 
more  bear  being  written  down  than  champagne  will  bear 
standing  in  a  tumbler,  was  very  pleasant  to  listen  to,  more 
especially  as  John  soon  discovered  that  he  was  the  only 
person  so  privileged.  Her  friends  and  relations  had  never 
suspected  that  Jess  was  humorous.  Another  thing  that 
struck  him  about  her,  as  time  went  on,  was  that  she  was 
growing  quite  handsome.  She  had  been  very  pale  and  thin 
when  he  reached  Pretoria,  but  before  a  month  was  over 
she  had  got,  comparatively  speaking,  stout,  which  was  an 
enormous  gain  to  her  appearance.  Her  pale  face,  too, 
gathered  a  faint  tinge  of  color,  that  came  and  went  capri- 
ciously, like  starlight  on  the  water,  and  her  beautiful  eyes 
grew  deeper  and  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

"  Who  would  ever  have  thought  that  it  was  the  same 
girl !"  said  Mrs.  Neville  to  him,  holding  up  her  hands  as 
she  watched  Jess  solemnly  surveying  a  half-cooked  mut- 
ton-chop; "  why,  she  used  to  be  such  a  poor  creature,  and 
now  she's  quite  a  fine  woman.  And  that  with  this  life, 
too,  which  is  wearing  me  to  a  shadow,  and  has  half  killed 
my  dear  daughter." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  being  in  the  open  air,"  said  John,  it  hav- 
ing never  occurred  to  him  that  the  medicine  that  was  do- 
ing Jess  so  much  good  might  be  happiness.  But  so  it  was. 
At  first  there  had  been  a  struggle,  then  a  lull,  and  after 
that  an  idea.  Why  should  she  not  enjoy  his  society  while 
she  could  ?  He  had  been  thrown  into  her  way  through 
no  wish  of  hers.  She  had  no  desire  to  wean  him  from 
Bessie;  or  if  she  had  the  desire,  it  was  one  she  was  far  too 
honorable  a  woman  to  entertain.  He  was  perfectly  inno- 


158  JESS. 

cent  of  the  whole  story;  to  him  she  was  the  young  lady 
who  happened  to  be  the  sister  of  the  woman  he  was  going 
to  marry,  that  was  all.  Why  should  she  not  pluck  her 
innocent  roses  while  she  might  ?  She  forgot  that  the  rose 
is  a  flower  with  a  dangerous  perfume,  and  one  that  is  apt 
to  confuse  the  senses  and  turn  the  head.  So  she  gave  her- 
self full  swing,  and  for  some  weeks  went  nearer  to  knowing 
what  happiness  really  meant  than  she  ever  had  before. 
What  a  wonderful  thing  is  the  love  of  a  woman  in  its  sim- 
plicity and  strength,  and  how  it  gilds  all  the  poor  and  com- 
mon things  of  life,  and  even  finds  a  joy  in  service !  The 
prouder  the  woman  the  more  delight  does  she  extract  from 
her  self-abasement  before  her  idol.  Only  not  many  women 
can  love  like  Jess,  and  when  they  do  they  almost  invaria- 
bly make  some  fatal  mistake,  whereby  the  wealth  of  their 
affection  is  wasted,  or,  worse  still,  becomes  a  source  of 
misery  or  shame  to  themselves  and  others. 

It  was  after  they  had  been  incarcerated  in  Pretoria  for 
about  a  month  that  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  John.  About 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  stood  a 
little  house  known,  probably  on  account  of  its  diminutive 
size,  as  "  The  Palatial."  This  cottage  had  been,  like  al- 
most every  other  house  in  Pretoria,  abandoned  to  its  fate, 
its  owner,  as  it  happened,  being  away  from  the  town.  One 
day,  in  the  course  of  a  walk,  John  and  Jess  crossed  the 
little  bridge  that  spanned  the  sluit  and  went  in  to  inspect 
the  place.  Passing  down  a  path  lined  on  either  side  with 
young  blue-gums,  they  reached  the  little  tin-roofed  cottage. 
It  consisted  of  two  rooms — a  bedroom  and  a  good-sized  sit- 
ting-room, in  which  still  stood  a  table  and  a  few  chairs,  with 
a  stable  and  a  kitchen  at  the  back.  They  went  in  and  sat 
down  by  the  open  door  and  looked  out.  The  grounds  of 
the  little  place  sloped  down  towards  a  valley,  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  which  rose  a  wooded  hill.  To  the  right,  too, 
was  a  hill  clothed  in  deep  green  bush.  The  grounds  them- 
selves were  planted  with  vines,  just  now  loaded  with  bunch- 


JESS.  159 

es  of  ripening  grapes,  and  surrounded  with  a  beautiful 
hedge  of  monthly  roses  that  formed  a  blaze  of  bloom. 
Near  the  house,  too,  was  a  bed  of  double  roses,  some  of 
them  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  all  flowering  with  a  pro- 
fusion unknown  in  this  country.  Altogether  it  was  a  de- 
lightful little  spot,  and,  after  the  noise  and  glare  of  the 
camp,  seemed  perfectly  heavenly;  and  they  sat  there  and 
talked  a  great  deal  about  the  farm  and  old  Silas  Croft,  and 
a  little  about  Bessie. 

"  This  is  nice,"  said  Jess,  presently,  putting  her  hands 
behind  her  head  and  looking  out  at  the  bush  beyond. 

"  Yes,"  said  John.  "  I  say,  I've  got  an  idea.  I  vote  we 
take  up  our  quarters  here—during  the  day,  I  mean.  Of 
course  we  shall  have  to  sleep  in  camp,  but  we  might  eat 
here,  you  know,  and  you  could  sit  here  all  day ;  it  would 
be  as  safe  as  a  church,  for  those  Boers  will  never  try  to 
storm  the  town,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

Jess  reflected,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
would  be  a  charming  arrangement,  and  accordingly  next 
day  she  set  to  work  and  got  the  place  as  nice  and  tidy  as 
circumstances  would  allow,  and  they  commenced  house- 
keeping. 

The  upshot  of  this  arrangement  was  that  they  were 
thrown  more  together  than  ever  before.  Meanwhile  the 
siege  dragged  its  slow  length  along.  No  news  whatever 
reached  the  town  from  outside,  but  that  did  not  trouble 
the  inhabitants  very  much,  as  they  were  sure  that  Colley 
was  advancing  to  their  relief,  and  even  got  up  sweepstakes 
as  to  the  date  of  his  arrival.  Now  and  then  a  sortie  took 
place,  but  as  the  results  attained  were  very  small,  and  were 
not,  on  the  whole,  creditable  to  our  arms,  perhaps  the  less 
said  about  them  the  better.  John,  of  course,  went  out  on 
these  occasions,  and  then  Jess  would  endure  agonies  that 
were  all  the  worse,  because  she  had  to  conceal  them.  She 
lived  in  constant  terror  lest  he  should  be  among  the  killed. 
However,  nothing  happened  to  him,  and  things  went  on  as 


160  JESS. 

usual  till  the  twelfth  of  February,  on  which  day  an  attack 
was  made  on  a  place  called  the  Red  House  Kraal,  which 
was  occupied  by  Boers,  near  a  spot  known  as  the  Six-mile 
Spruit. 

The  force,  which  was  a  mixed  one,  left  Pretoria  before 
daybreak,  and  John  went  with  it.  He  was  rather  sur- 
prised when,  on  going  to  the  cart  in  which  Jess  slept,  to 
get  some  little  thing  before  saddling  up,  to  find  her  sitting 
on  the  box  in  the  night  dews  with  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  she 
had  prepared  for  him  in  her  hand. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  Jess  ?"  he  asked,  sharply. 
"  I  will  not  have  you  getting  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
to  make  coffee  for  me." 

"I  have  not  got  up,"  she  answered,  quietly;  "I  have 
not  been  to  bed." 

"  That  makes  matters  worse,"  he  said ;  but  nevertheless 
he  drank  the  coffee,  and  was  glad  to  get  it,  while  she  sat 
on  the  box  and  watched  him. 

"  Put  on  your  shawl  and  get  something  over  your  head," 
he  said,  "  the  dew  will  soak  you  through.  Look,  your  hair 
is  all  wet." 

Presently  she  spoke.  "  I  wish  you  would  do  something 
for  me,  John,"  for  she  called  him  John  now.  "  Will  you 
promise  ?" 

"  How  like  a  woman,"  he  said,  "  to  ask  one  to  promise  a 
thing  without  saying  what  it  is." 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  for  Bessie's  sake,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Jess?" 

"  Not  to  go  on  this  sortie.  You  know  you  can  easily 
get  out  of  it  if  you  like." 

He  laughed.     "You  little  silly;  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  because  I  am 
nervous.  I  am  afraid  that — that  something  might  happen 
to  you." 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  consolingly,  "  every  bullet  has  its 
billet,  and  if  it  does  I  don't  see  that  it  can  be  helped." 


JESS.  161 

"  Think  of  Bessie,"  she  said  again. 

"  Look  here,  Jess,"  he  answered,  testily,  "  what  is  the 
good  of  trying  to  take  the  heart  out  of  a  fellow  like  this  ? 
If  I  am  going  to  be  shot  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  show  the  white  feather,  even  for  Bessie's  sake;  so 
there  you  are,  and  now  I  must  be  off." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  John,"  she  said,  quietly;  "  I  should 
not  have  liked  to  hear  you  say  anything  different,  but  I 
could  not  help  speaking.  Good-bye,  John  ;  God  bless 
you  !"  and  she  stretched  down  her  hand,  which  he  took, 
and  went. 

"  Upon  my  word,  she  has  given  me  quite  a  turn,"  re- 
flected John  to  himself,  as  the  troop  crept  on  through  the 
white  mists  of  dawn.  "  I  suppose  she  thinks  that  I  am 
going  to  be  plugge^l.  Perhaps  I  am!  I  wonder  how  Bes- 
sie would  take  it.  She  would  be  awfully  cut  up,  but  I 
expect  that  she  would  get  over  it  pretty  soon.  Now  I 
don't  think  that  Jess  would  get  over  a  thing  of  that  sort 
in  a  hurry.  That  is  just  the  difference  between  the  two 
— the  one  is  all  flower  and  the  other  is  all  root." 

And  then  he  fell  to  wondering  how  Bessie  was,  and 
what  she  was  doing,  and  if  she  missed  him  as  much  as  he 
missed  her,  and  so  on,  till  his  mind  came  back  to  Jess,  and 
he  reflected  what  a  charming  companion  she  was,  and  how 
thoughtful  and  kind,  and  breathed  a  secret  hope  that  she 
would  continue  to  live  with  them  after  they  were  mar- 
ried. Somehow  they  had  got  to  those  terms,  perfectly 
innocent  in  themselves,  in  which  two  people  become  abso-  ' 
lutely  necessary  to  each  other's  daily  life.  Indeed,  Jess 
had  got  a  long  way  further  than  that,  but  of  this  he  was 
of  course  ignorant.  He  was  still  at  the  former  stage,  and 
was  not  himself  aware  how  large  a  proportion  of  his  daily 
thoughts  were  occupied  by  this  dark-eyed  girl,  or  how  com- 
pletely her  personality  was  overshadowing  him.  He  only 
knew  that  she  had  the  knack  of  making  him  feel  thor- 
oughly happy  in  her  society.  When  he  was  talking  to 
11 


162  JESS. 

her,  or  even  sitting  silently  by  her,  he  became  aware  of  a 
sensation  of  restf  ulness  and  reliance  that  he  had  never  be- 
fore experienced  in  the  society  of  a  woman.  Of  course 
this  was  to  a  large  extent  the  natural  homage  of  the 
weaker  nature  to  the  stronger,  but  it  was  also  something 
more.  It  was  the  shadow  of  that  utter  sympathy  and 
perfect  accord  which  is  the  surest  sign  of  the  presence  of 
the  highest  forms  of  affection,  and  when  it  accompanies 
the  passion  of  men  and  women,  as  it  sometimes,  though 
rarely  does,  being  more  often  found  in  its  highest  form 
in  those  relations  from  which  the  element  of  sexuality 
is  excluded,  raises  it  almost  above  the  level  of  the  earth. 
For  the  love  where  that  sympathy  exists,  whether  it  is 
between  mother  and  son,  husband  and  wife,  or  those  who, 
while  desiring  it,  have  no  hope  of  tha£  relationship,  is  an 
undying  love,  and  will  endure  till  the  night  of  Time  has 
swallowed  all  things. 

Meanwhile,  as  John  reflected,  the  force  to  which  he  was 
attached  was  moving  into  action,  and  he  soon  found  it 
necessary  to  come  down  to  the  unpleasantly  practical  de- 
tails of  Boer  warfare.  More  particularly  did  this  come 
home  to  his  mind  when,  shortly  afterwards,  the  man  next 
to  him  was  shot  dead,  and  a  little  later  he  himself  was 
slightly  wounded  by  a  bullet  which  passed  between  his 
saddle  and  his  thigh.  Into  the  details  of  the  fight  that 
ensued  it  is  not  necessary  to  enter  here.  They  were,  if 
anything,  more  discreditable  than  most  of  the  episodes  of 
that  unhappy  war,  in  which  the  holding  of  Potchefstroom, 
Lydenburg,  Rustenburg,  and  Wakkerstroom  are  the  only 
bright  spots.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  ended  in  some- 
thing very  like  an  utter  rout  at  the  hands  of  a  much  infe- 
rior force,  and  that,  a  few  hours  after  he  had  started,  John 
found  himself  on  the  return  road  to  Pretoria,  with  a  se- 
verely wounded  man  behind  his  saddle  (the  ambulance 
being  left  in  the  hands  of  the  Boers),  who,  as  they  went 
painfully  along,  mingled  curses  of  shame  and  fury  with  his 


JESS.  168 

own.  Meanwhile  exaggerated  accounts  of  what  had  hap- 
pened had  got  into  the  town,  and,  among  other  things,  it 
was  said  that  Captain  Niel  had  been  shot  dead.  One 
man  who  came  in  stated  that  he  saw  him  fall,  and  that  he 
was  shot  through  the  head.  This  Mrs.  Neville  heard  with 
her  own  ears,  and,  greatly  shocked,  started  to  communicate 
the  intelligence  to  Jess. 

As  soon  as  it  was  daylight  Jess  had,  as  was  customary 
with  her,  gone  over  to  the  little  house  which  she  and  John 
occupied,  "  The  Palatial,"  as  it  was  ironically  called,  and 
settled  herself  there  for  the  day.  First  she  tried  to  work 
and  could  not,  so  she  took  a  book  that  she  had  brought 
with  her  and  began  to  read,  but  it  was  a  failure  also.  Her 
eyes  would  wander  from  the  page,  and  her  ears  kept  strain- 
ing to  catch  the  distant  booming  of  the  big  guns  that  came 
from  time  to  time  floating  across  the  hills.  The  fact  of 
the  matter  was  that  the  poor  girl  was  the  victim  of  a  pre- 
sentiment that  something  was  going  to  happen  to  John. 
Most  people  of  imaginative  mind  have  suffered  from  this 
kind  of  thing  at  one  time  or  other  in  their  lives,  and  have 
lived  to  see  the  folly  of  it ;  and,  indeed,  there  was  more  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  present  case  to  excuse  the  in- 
dulgence in  the  luxury  of  presentiments  than  is  usual. 
Indeed,  as  it  happened,  she  was  not  far  out — only  a  six- 
teenth of  an  inch  or  so — for  John  was  very  nearly  killed. 

Not  finding  Jess  in  camp,  Mrs.  Neville  made  her  way 
across  to  "  The  Palatial,"  where  she  knew  the  girl  sat,  cry- 
ing as  she  went,  at  the  thought  of  the  news  that  she  had 
to  communicate,  for  the  good  soul  had  grown  very  fond 
of  John  Niel.  Jess,  with  that  acute  sense  of  hearing  that 
often  accompanies  nervous  excitement,  caught  the  sound 
of  the  little  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  almost  be- 
fore her  visitor  had  got  through  it,  and  ran  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house  to  see  who  it  was. 

One  glance  at  Mrs.  Neville's  tear-stained  face  was  enough 
for  her.  She  knew  what  was  coming,  and  clasped  one  of 


164  JESS. 

the  young  blue-gum  trees  that  grew  along  the  path,  to 
prevent  herself  from  falling. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  said,  faintly;  "  is  he  dead  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  yes;  shot  through  the  head,  they  say." 

Jess  made  no  answer,  but  clung  to  the  sapling,  feeling 
as  though  she  were  going  to  die  herself,  and  faintly  hoping 
that  she  might  do  so.  Her  eyes  wandered  vaguely  from 
the  face  of  the  messenger  of  evil,  first  up  to  the  sky,  then 
down  to  the  cropped  and  trodden  veldt.  Past  the  gate  of 
"  The  Palatial "  garden  ran  a  road,  which,  as  it  happened, 
was  a  short-cut  from  the  scene  of  the  fight,  and  down  this 
road  came  four  Kaffirs  and  half-castes,  bearing  something 
on  a  stretcher,  with  three  or  four  carbineers  riding  behind. 
A  coat  was  thrown  over  the  face  of  the  form  on  the 
stretcher,  but  the  legs  were  visible.  They  were  booted 
and  spurred,  and  the  feet  fell  apart  in  that  peculiarly  lax 
and  helpless  way  of  which  there  is  no  possibility  of  mis- 
taking the  meaning. 

"  Look  !"  she  said,  pointing. 

"  Ah,  poor  man,  poor  man.!"  said  Mrs.  Neville,  "  they 
are  bringing  him  here  to  lay  him  out." 

Then  Jess's  beautiful  eyes  closed,  and  down  she  went 
with  the  bending  tree.  Presently  the  sapling  snapped, 
and  she  fell  senseless  with  a  little  cry,  and  as  she  did  so 
the  men  with  the  corpse  passed  on. 

Two  minutes  afterwards,  John  Niel,  having  heard  the 
rumor  of  his  own  death  on  arrival  at  the  camp,  and  greatly 
fearing  lest  it  should  have  got  to  Jess's  ears,  came  canter- 
ing hurriedly  across,  and,  dismounting  as  well  as  his  wound 
would  allow,  limped  up  the  garden  path. 

"  Great  heavens,  Captain  Niel  !"  said  Mrs.  Neville,  look- 
ing up;  "why,  we  thought  that  you  were  dead  !" 

"And  that  is  what  you  have  been  telling  her,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said,  sternly,  glancing  at  the  pale  and  deathlike 
face;  "you  might  have  waited  till  you  were  sure.  Poor 
girL!  it  must  have  given  her  a  turn;"  and,  stooping  down, 


JESS.  165 

he  got  his  arms  under  her,  and  lifting  her  with  some  diffi- 
culty, limped  off  to  the  house,  where  he  laid  her  down 
upon  the  table,  and,  assisted  by  Mrs.  Neville,  began  to  do 
all  in  his  power  to  revive  her.  So  obstinate  was  her  faint, 
however,  that  their  efforts  were  unavailing,  and  at  last 
Mrs.  Neville  started  off  to  the  camp  to  get  some  brandy, 
leaving  him  to  go  on  rubbing  her  hands  and  sprinkling 
water  on  her  face. 

The  good  lady  had  not  been  gone  more  than  two  or 
three  minutes  when  Jess  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  and  sat 
up,  and  then  slipped  her  feet  to  the  ground.  Her  eyes  fell 
upon  John  and  dilated  with  wonder,  and  he  thought  that 
she  was  going  to  faint  again,  for  even  her  lips  blanched, 
and  she  began  to  shake  and  tremble  all  over  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  her  agitation. 

"  Jess,  Jess,"  he  said,  "  for  God's  sake  don't  look  like 
that;  you  frighten  me  !" 

"  I  thought  you  were — I  thought  you  were — "  she  said, 
slowly,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears 
and  fell  forward  upon  his  breast  and  lay  there  sobbing  her 
heart  out,  her  brown  curls  resting  against  his  face. 

It  was  an  awkward  position  and  a  most  moving  one. 
John  was  only  a  man,  and  the  spectacle  of  this  strange 
woman,  to  whom  he  had  lately  grown  so  much  attached, 
plunged  into  intense  emotion,  awakened,  apparently,  by 
anxiety  about  his  fate,  stirred  him  very  deeply  —  as  it 
would  have  stirred  anybody.  Indeed,  it  struck  some  chord 
in  him  for  which  he  could  not  quite  account,  and  its  echoes 
charmed  and  yet  frightened  him.  What  did  it  mean  ? 

"  Jess,  dear  Jess,  pray  stop ;  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry  so." 

She  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder  and  stood  looking 
at  him,  her  hand  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  table  behind 
her.  Her  face  was  wet  with  tears  and  looked  like  a  dew- 
washed  lily,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  were  alight  with  a 
flame  that  he  had  never  seen  in  the  eyes  of  woman  before. 
She  said  nothing,  but  her  whole  face  was  more  eloquent 


166  JESS. 

than  any  words,  for  there  are  times  when  the  features  can 
convey  a  message  in  a  language  of  their  own  that  is  more 
subtle  than  any  tongue  we  talk.  There  she  stood,  her 
breast  heaving  with  emotion  as  the  sea  heaves  wThen  the 
fierceness  of  the  storm  has  passed — a  very  incarnation  of 
the  intensest  love  of  woman.  And  as  she  stood  something 
seemed  to  pass  before  her  eyes  and  blind  her,  and  a  spirit 
took  possession  of  her  that  absorbed  all  her  doubts  and 
fears,  and  she  gave  way  to  a  force  that  was  of  her  and  yet 
compelled  her,  as,  when  the  wind  blows,  the  sails  compel 
a  ship.  And  then,  for  the  first  time,  where  her  love  was 
concerned,  she  put  out  all  her  strength.  She  knew,  and 
had  always  known,  that  she  could  master  him,  and  force 
him  to  regard  her  as  she  regarded  him,  did  she  but  choose. 
How  she  knew  it  she  could  not  say,  but  so  it  was.  And  now 
she  yielded  to  an  overmastering  impulse  and  chose.  She 
said  nothing,  she  did  not  even  move,  she  only  looked  at  him. 

"  Why  were  you  so  frightened  about  me?"  he  stammered. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  kept  her  eyes  upon  his  face, 
and  it  seemed  to  John  as  though  power  flowed  from  them; 
for,  as  she  looked,  he  felt  the  change  come.  Everything 
melted  away  before  the  almost  spiritual  intensity  of  her 
gaze.  Bessie,  honor,  his  engagement — all  were  forgotten ; 
the  smouldering  embers  broke  into  flame,  and  he  knew 
that  he  loved  this  woman  as  he  had  never  loved  any  living 
creature  before — that  he  loved  her  even  as  she  loved  him. 
Strong  man  as  he  was,  he  shook  like  a  leaf  before  her. 

"  Jess,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "  God  forgive  me  !  I  love 
you  !"  and  he  bent  forward  to  kiss  her. 

She  lifted  her  face  towards  him,  then  suddenly  changed 
her  mind,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  breast. 

"  You  forget,"  she  said,  almost  solemnly,  "  you  are  go- 
ing to  marry  Bessie." 

Overpowered  by  a  deep  sense  of  shame,  and  by  another 
sense  of  the  calamity  that  had  overtaken  him,  John  turned 
and  limped  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AND    AFTER. 

IN  front  of  the  door  of  "  The  Palatial "  was  a  round 
flower-bed  filled  with  weeds  and  flowers  mixed  up  together 
like  the  good  and  evil  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  and  to  the 
right-hand  side  of  this  bed  stood  an  old  wooden  chair  with 
the  back  off.  No  sooner  had  John  got  outside  the  door 
of  the  cottage  than  he  became  sensible  that,  what  between 
one  thing  and  another — weariness,  loss  of  blood  from  his 
wound,  and  intense  mental  emotion — if  he  did  not  sit  down 
somewhere  pretty  quickly  he  should  follow  the  example 
set  by  Jess  and  faint  straight  away.  Accordingly  he  made 
for  the  old  chair  and  perched  himself  on  it  with  gratitude. 
Presently  he  saw  Mrs.  Neville  coming  steaming  along  the 
path  with  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  her  hand. 

"  Ah  !"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  that  will  just  come  in 
handy  for  me.  If  I  don't  have  a  glass  of  brandy  soon  I 
shall  roll  off  this  infernal  chair — I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Where  is  Jess  ?"  panted  Mrs.  Neville. 

"In  there,"  he  said;  "she  has  recovered.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  us  both  if  she  hadn't,"  he  added  to 
himself. 

"  Why,  bless  me,  Captain  Niel,  how  queer  you  look  !" 
said  Mrs.  Neville,  fanning  herself  with  her  hat;  "  and  there 
is  such  a  row  going  on  at  the  camp  there  ;  the  volunteers 
swear  that  they  will  attack  the  military  for  deserting  them, 
and  I  don't  know  what  all  ;  and  they  simply  wouldn't  be- 
lieve me  when  I  said  you  were  not  shot.  Why,  I  never  ! 
Look !  your  boot  is  full  of  blood!  So  you  were  hit  after  all." 


168  JESS. 

"  Might  I  trouble  you  to  give  me  some  brandy,  Mra. 
Neville  ?"  said  John,  faintly. 

She  filled  a  glass  she  had  brought  with  her  half  full  of 
water  from  a  little  irrigation  furrow  that  ran  down  from 
the  main  sluit  by  the  road,  and  then  topped  it  up  with 
brandy.  He  drank  it,  and  felt  decidedly  better. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Mrs.  Neville,  "  there  are  a  pair  of  j'ou 
now.  You  should  just  have  seen  that  girl  go  down  when 
she  saw  the  body  coming  along  the  road  !  I  made  sure 
that  it  was  you;  but  it  wasn't.  They  say  that  it  was  poor 
Jim  Smith,  son  of  old  Smith  of  Rustenburg.  I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  Captain  Niel,  you  had  better  be  careful  ;  if  that 
girl  isn't  in  love  with  you  she  is  something  very  like  it. 
A  girl  does  not  pop  over  like  that  for  Dick,  Tom,  or  Harry. 
You  must  forgive  an  old  woman  like  me  for  speaking  out 
plain,  but  she  is  an  odd  girl,  is  Jess,  just  like  ten  women 
rolled  into  one  so  far  as  her  mind  goes,  and  if  you  don't 
take  care  you  will  get  into  trouble,  which  will  be  rather 
awkward,  as  you  are  going  to  maiTy  her  sister.  Jess  isn't 
a  girl  to  have  a  bit  of  a  flirt  to  pass  away  the  time  and 
have  done  with  it,  I  can  tell  you;"  and  she  shook  her  head 
solemnly,  as  though  she  suspected  him  of  trifling  with  his 
future  sister-in-law's  young  affections,  and  then,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  turned  and  went  into  the  cottage. 

As  for  John,  he  only  groaned.  What  could  he  do  but 
groan?  The  whole  thing  was  self-evident,  and  if  ever  a 
man  felt  ashamed  of  himself  that  man  was  John  Niel. 
He  was  a  strictly  honorable  individual,  and  it  cut  him  to 
the  heart  to  think  that  he  had  entered  on  a  course  which 
was  not  honorable,  considering  his  engagement  to  Bessie. 
When  he,  a  few  minutes  before,  had  told  Jess  he  loved  her 
he  had  said  a  disgraceful  thing,  however  true  a  thing  it 
might  be.  And  that  was  the  worst  of  it;  it  was  true;  he 
did  love  her.  He  felt  it  come  sweeping  over  him  like  a 
wave  as  she  stood  there  looking  at  him  in  the  room,  ut- 
terly drowning  and  overpowering  his  affection  for  Bessie, 


JESS.  169 

to  whom  he  was  bound  by  every  tie  of  honor.  It  was  a 
new  and  a  wonderful  thing  this  passion  that  had  arisen 
within  him,  as  a  strong  man  armed,  and  driven  every  other 
affection  away  into  the  waste  places  of  his  mind;  and,  un- 
fortunately, it  was  an  overmastering  and,  as  he  already 
guessed,  an  enduring  thing.  He  cursed  himself  in  his 
shame  and  anger  as  he  sat  there  recovering  his  equilibrium 
on  the  broken  chair  and  tying  a  handkerchief  tight  round 
his  wound.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  !  Why  had  he  not 
waited  to  see  which  of  the  two  he  really  took  to?  Why 
had  Jess  gone  away  like  that  and  thrown  him  into  tempta- 
tion with  her  pretty  sister?  He  was  sure  now  that  she 
had  cared  for  him  all  along.  Well,  there  it  was,  and  a 
precious  bad  business  too  !  One  thing  he  was  clear  about; 
it  should  go  no  further.  He  was  not  going  to  break  his 
engagement  to  Bessie  ;  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  But, 
all  the  same,  he  felt  sorry  for  himself,  and  sorry  for  Jess  too. 

Just  then,  however,  the  bandage  on  his  leg  slipped,  and 
the  wound  began  to  bleed  so  fast  that  he  was  fain  to  limp 
into  the  house  for  assistance. 

Jess,  who  had  apparently  quite  got  over  her  agitation, 
was  standing  by  the  table  talking  to  Mrs.  Neville,  who 
was  persuading  her  to  swallow  some  of  the  brandy  she 
had  been  at  such  pains  to  fetch.  The  moment  she  caught 
sight  of  John's  face,  which  had  now  turned  ghastly  white, 
and  saw  the  red  line  trickling  down  his  boot,  she  took  up 
her  hat  that  was  lying  on  the  table. 

"  You  had  better  lie  down  on  the  old  bedstead  in  the 
little  room,"  she  said  ;  "  I  am  going  for  the  doctor." 

Assisted  by  Mrs.  Neville,  he  was  only  too  glad  to  take 
this  advice,  but  long  before  the  doctor  arrived  John  had 
followed  Jess's  example,  and,  to  the  intense  alarm  of  Mr*. 
Neville,  who  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  check  the  flow  of 
blood,  which  had  now  become  copious,  gone  off  into  a 
dead  faint.  On  the  arrival  of  the  doctor  it  appeared  that 
the  bullet  had  grazed  the  walls  of  one  of  the  arteries  on 


170  JESS. 

the  inside  of  the  thigh  without  actually  cutting  them,  but 
that  they  had  now  given  way,  which  rendered  it  necessary 
to  tie  the  artery.  This  operation,  with  the  assistance  of 
chloroform,  he  proceeded  to  successfully  carry  out  on  the 
spot,  announcing  afterwards  that  a  great  deal  of  blood  had 
already  been  lost. 

When  at  last  it  was  over,  Mrs.  Neville  asked  about  John 
being  moved  up  to  the  hospital,  but  the  doctor  declared 
that  he  must  stop  where  he  was,  and  that  Jess  must  stop 
and  help  to  nurse  him,  with  the  assistance  of  a  soldier's 
wife  he  would  send  down. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Neville,  "  that  is  very  awkward." 

"  It  will  be  awkwarder  if  you  try  to  move  him  at  pres- 
ent," was  the  grim  reply,  "  for  the  silk  may  slip,  in  which 
case  the  artery  will  probably  break  out  again,  and  he  will 
bleed  to  death." 

As  for  Jess,  she  said  nothing,  but  set  to  work  to  make 
preparations  for  her  task  of  nursing.  As  Fate  had  once 
more  thrown  them  together,  she  accepted  the  position 
gladly,  though  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  she  would  not 
have  sought  it. 

In  about  an  hour's  time,  just  as  John  was  beginning  to 
recover  from  the  painful  effects  of  the  chloroform,  the  sol- 
dier's wife  who  was  to  assist  her  in  nursing  arrived.  She 
was,  as  Jess  soon  discovered,  not  only  a  low  stamp  of 
woman,  but  both  careless  and  ignorant  into  the  bargain, 
and  all  that  she  could  be  relied  on  to  do  was  to  carry  out 
some  of  the  rougher  work  of  the  sick-room.  When  John 
woke  up  and  discovered  whose  was  the  presence  that  was 
bending  over  him,  and  whose  the  cool  hand  that  lay  upon 
his  forehead,  he  groaned  again  and  went  to  sleep.  But 
Jess  did  not  go  to  sleep.  She  sat  by  him  there  through- 
out the  night,  until  at  last  the  cold  lights  of  the  dawn 
came  gleaming  through  the  window  and  fell  upon  the 
white  face  of  the  man  she  loved.  He  was  still  sleeping 
soundly,  and,  as  the  night  was  exceedingly  hot  and  op- 


JESS.  171 

pressive,  she  had  left  nothing  but  a  sheet  over  him.  Be- 
fore she  went  to  rest  a  little  herself  she  turned  to  look  at 
him  once  more,  and  as  she  did  so  saw  the  sheet  suddenly 
grow  red  with  blood.  The  artery  had  broken  out  again. 

Calling  to  the  soldier's  wife  to  run  across  to  the  doctor, 
Jess  shook  her  patient  until  he  woke,  for  he  was  sleeping 
sweetly  through  the  whole  thing,  and  would,  no  doubt, 
have  continued  to  do  so  until  he  glided  into  a  deeper  sleep; 
and  then  between  them  they  did  what  they  could  to  quench 
that  dreadful  pumping  flow,  Jess  knotting  her  handker- 
chief round  his  leg  and  twisting  it  with  a  stick,  while  he 
pressed  his  thumb  upon  the  severed  artery.  But,  strive  as 
they  would,  they  were  only  partially  successful,  and  Jess 
began  to  think  that  he  would  die  in  her  arms  from  loss  of 
blood.  It  was  agonizing  to  wait  there  minute  after  minute 
and  see  his  life  ebbing  away. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  last  much  longer,  Jess.  God  bless 
you,  dear  !"  he  said.  "  The  place  is  beginning  to  go  round 
and  round." 

Poor  soul  !  she  could  only  set  her  teeth  and  wait  for  the 
end. 

Presently  John's  pressure  on  the  wounded  artery  re- 
laxed, and  he  fainted  off,  and,  oddly  enough,  just  then  the 
flow  of  blood  diminished  considerably.  Another  five  min- 
utes, and  she  heard  the  quick  step  of  the  doctor  coming 
up  the  path. 

"  Thank  God  you  have  come  !    He  has  bled  dreadfully." 

"  I  was  out  attending  a  poor  fellow  who  was  shot 
through  the  lung,  and  that  fool  of  a  woman  waited  for 
me  to  come  back  instead  of  following.  I  have  brought 
you  an  orderly  instead  of  her.  By  Jove,  he  has  bled  !  I 
suppose  the  silk  has  slipped..  Well,  there  is  only  one  thing 
for  it.  Orderly,  the  chloroform." 

And  then  followed  another  long  half-hour  of  slashing 
and  tying  and  horror,  and  when  at  last  the  unfortunate 
John  opened  his  eyes  again  he  was  too  weak  to  speak,  and 


172  JESS. 

could  only  smile  feebly.  For  three  .days  after  this  he  was 
in  a  dangerous  state,  for  if  the  artery  had  broken  out  for 
the  third  time  the  chances  were  that,  having  so  little  blood 
left  in  his  veins,  he  would  die  before  anything  could  be 
done  for  him.  At  times  he  was  very  delirious  from  weak- 
ness, and  these  were  the  dangerous  hours,  for  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  keep  him  quiet,  and  every  movement  threw 
Jess  into  an  agony  of  terror  lest  the  silk  fastenings  of  the 
artery  should  break  away.  Indeed,  there  was  only  one 
way  in  which  she  could  keep  him  quiet,  and  that  was  by 
laying  her  slim  white  hand  upon  his  forehead  or  giving  it 
to  him  to  hold.  Oddly  enough,  this  had  more  effect  upon 
his  fevered  mind  than  anything  else.  For  hour  after  hour 
she  would  sit  thus,  though  her  arm  ached,  and  her  back 
felt  as  if  it  were  going  to  break  in  two,  until  at  last  she 
was  rewarded  by  seeing  his  wild  eyes  cease  their  wander- 
ings and  close  in  peaceful  sleep. 

Yet  with  it  all,  that  week  was  perhaps  the  happiest  time 
in  her  life.  There  he  lay,  the  man  she  loved  with  all  the 
intensity  of  her  deep  nature;  and  she  ministered  to  him, 
and  felt  that  he  loved  her,  and  depended  on  her  as  a  babe 
upon  its  mother.  Even  in  his  delirium  her  name  was  con- 
tinually on  his  lips,  and  generally  with  some  endearing 
term  before  it.  She  felt  in  those  dark  hours  of  doubt  and 
sickness  as  though  they  two  were  growing  life  to  life,  knit 
up  in  a  divine  identity  she  could  not  analyze  or  understand. 
She  felt  that  it  was  so,  and  she  believed  that,  once  being 
so,  whatever  her  future  might  be,  that  communion  could 
never  be  dissolved,  and  therefore  was  she  happy,  though 
she  knew  that  his  recovery  meant  their  lifelong  separa- 
tion. For  though  Jess  had  once,  when  thrown  utterly  off 
her  balance,  given  her  passion  way,  it  was  not  a  thing  she 
meant  to  repeat.  She  had,  she  felt,  injured  Bessie  enough 
already  in  taking  her  future  husband's  heart.  That  she 
could  not  help  now,  but  she  would  take  no  more.  John 
should  go  back  to  her  sister. 


JESS.  173 

And  so  she  sat  and  gazed  at  that  sleeping  man  through 
the  long  watches  of  the  night,  and  was  happy.  There  lay 
her  joy.  Soon  he  would  be  taken  from  her  and  she  would 
be  left  desolate,  but  while  he  lay  there  he  was  hers.  It 
was  passing  sweet  to  her  woman's  heart  to  lay  her  hand 
upon  him  and  see  him  sleep,  for  this  desire  to  watch  the 
sleep  of  a  beloved  object  is  one  of  the  highest  and  stran- 
gest manifestations  of  passion.  Truly,  and  with  a  keen 
insight  into  the  human  heart,  has  the  poet  said  that  there 
is  no  joy  like  the  joy  of  a  woman  watching  what  she  loves 
asleep.  As  Jess  sat  and  gazed,  those  beautiful  and  tender 
lines  came  floating  into  her  mind,  and  she  thought  how 
true  they  were: 

"  For  there  it  lies,  so  tranquil,  so  beloved, 

All  that  it  hath  of  life  with  us  is  living; 
So  gentle,  stirless,  helpless,  and  unmoved, 

And  all  unconscious  of  the  joy  'tis  giving ; 
All  it  hath  felt,  inflicted,  passed,  and  proved, 

Hush'd  into  depths  beyond  the  watcher's  diving : 
There  lies  the  thing  we  love  with  all  its  errors 
And  all  its  charms,  like  death  without  its  terrors." 

Ay  !  there  lay  the  thing  she  loved. 

The  time  went  on  and  the  artery  broke  out  no  more,  and 
then  at  last  came  a  morning  when  John  opened  his  eyes 
and  watched  the  pale,  earnest  face  bending  over  him  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  remember  something.  Present- 
ly he  shut  his  eyes  again.  He  had  remembered. 

"  I  have  been  very  ill,  Jess,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  John." 

"  And  you  have  nursed  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  John." 

"  Am  I  going  to  recover  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  are." 

He  shut  his  eyes  again. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  news  from  outside  ?" 

"No  more;  things  are  just  the  same," 


174  JESS. 

"  Nor  from  Bessie  ?" 

"None;  we  are  quite  cut  off." 

Then  came  a  pause. 

"  John,"  said  Jess,  "  I  want  to  say  something  to  you. 
When  people  are  delirious,  or  when  delirium  is  coming 
on,  they  sometimes  say  things  that  they  are  not  responsi- 
ble for,  and  which  had  better  be  forgotten." 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "I  understand." 

"  So,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  measured  tone, "  we  will 
forget  everything  you  may  fancy  that  you  said,  or  that  I 
did,  since  the  time  when  you  came  in  wounded  and  found 
that  I  had  fainted." 

"Quite  so,"  said  John;  "I  renounce  them  all." 

"  We  renounce  them  all,"  she  corrected,  and  gave  a  sol- 
emn little  nod  of  her  head  and  sighed,  and  thus  they  rati- 
fied that  audacious  compact  of  oblivion. 

But  it  was  a  lie,  and  they  both  knew  that  it  was  a  lie. 
If  love  had  existed  before,  was  there  anything  in  his  help- 
lessness and  her  long  and  tender  care  to  make  it  less? 
Alas!  no;  rather  was  their  companionship  the  more  per- 
fect and  their  sympathy  the  more  complete.  "Propin- 
quity, sir;  propinquity,"  as  the  wise  man  said;  we  all 
know  the  evils  of  it. 

It  was  a  lie,  and  a  very  common  and  every-day  sort  of 
lie.  Who,  being  behind  the  scenes,  has  not  laughed  in 
his  sleeve  to  see  it  acted  ?  Who  has  not  admired  and  won- 
dered at  the  cold  and  formal  bow  and  shake  of  the  hand, 
the  tender  inquiries  after  the  health  of  the  maiden  aunt 
and  the  baby,  the  carelessly  expressed  wish  that  we  may 
meet  somewhere  —  all  so  palpably  overdone?  That  the 
heroine  of  the  impassioned  scene  at  which  we  had  unfort- 
unately to  assist  an  hour  ago  !  Where  ?.re  the  tears,  the 
convulsive  sobs,  the  heart-broken  grief?  And  that  the 
young  gentleman  who  saw  nothing  for  it  but  flight  or  a 
pistol  bullet !  There,  all  the  world's  a  stage,  and  fortu- 
nately most  of  us  can  act  a  bit  at  a  pinch. 


JESS.  175 

Yes,  we  can  act;  we  can  paint  the  face  and  powder  the 
hair,  and  summon  up  the  set  smile  and  the  regulation  joke, 
and  make  pretence  that  things  are  as  things  were,  when 
they  are  as  different  as  the  North  Pole  from  the  Torrid 
Zone.  But  unfortunately,  or  fortunately — I  don't  know 
which — we  cannot  bedeck  our  inner  selves  and  make  them 
mime  as  the  occasion  pleases,  and  sing  the  old  song  when 
their  lips  are  set  to  a  strange,  new  chant.  Of  a  surety 
there  is  within  us  a  spark  of  the  Eternal  Truth,  for  in  our 
own  hearts  we  cannot  lie.  And  so  it  was  with  these  two. 
From  that  day  forward  they  forgot  that  scene  in  the  sit- 
ting-room of  "The  Palatial,"  when  Jess  put  out  her 
strength  and  John  bent  and  broke  before  it  like  a  rush 
before  the  wind.  Surely  it  was  a  part  of  the  delirium ! 
They  forgot  that  now,  alas !  they  loved  each  other  with 
a  love  that  did  but  gather  force  from  its  despair.  They 
talked  of  Bessie,  and  of  John's  marriage,  and  discussed 
Jess's  plans  for  going  to  Europe,  just  as  though  these 
were  not  matters  of  spiritual  life  and  death  to  each  of 
them.  In  short,  however  they  might  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment have  gone  astray,  now,  to  their  honor  be  it  said,  they 
followed  the  path  of  duty  with  unflinching  feet,  nor  did 
they  cry  when  the  stones  cut  them. 

But  it  was  all  a  living  lie,  and  they  knew  it.  For  be- 
tween them  stood  the  irrevocable  Past,  who  for  good  or 
evil  had  bound  them  together  in  his  unchanging  bonds, 
and  with  cords  that  could  not  be  broken. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HANS    COETZEE    COMES    TO    PRETORIA. 

WHEN  once  he  had  taken  the  turn,  John's  recovery  was 
rapid.  Naturally  of  a  vigorous  constitution,  when  the 
artery  had  fairly  united  he  soon  made  up  for  the  great 
loss  of  blood  which  he  had  undergone,  and  in  a  little  more 
than  a  month  from  the  date  of  his  wound  was,  physically, 
almost  as  good  a  man  as  ever. 

One  morning — it  was  the  20th  of  March — Jess  and  he 
were  sitting  in  "  The  Palatial "  garden.  John  was  lying 
in  a  long  cane  deck-chair  that  Jess  had  borrowed  or  stolen 
out  of  one  of  the  deserted  houses,  and  smoking  a  pipe. 
By  his  side,  in  a  hole  in  the  flat  arm  of  the  chair,  made 
originally  to  receive  a  soda-water  tumbler,  was  a  great 
bunch  of  purple  grapes  which  she  had  gathered  for  him; 
and  on  his  knees  was  a  copy  of  that  journalistic  curiosity, 
the  N~ews  of  the  Camp,  which  was  chiefly  remarkable  for 
its  utter  dearth  of  news.  It  is  not  easy  to  keep  a  news- 
paper going  in  a  beleaguered  town. 

They  sat  in  silence:  John  puffing  away  at  his  pipe,  and 
Jess,  her  work  —  one  of  his  socks  —  lying  idly  upon  her 
knees,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  it,  and  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  lights  and  shadows  that  played  with  broad  fin- 
gers upon  the  wooded  slopes  beyond. 

So  silently  did  they  sit  that  a  great  green  lizard  came 
and  basked  himself  in  the  sun  within  a  yard  of  them,  and 
a  beautiful  striped  butterfly  perched  deliberately  upon  the 
purple  grapes  !  It  was  a  delightful  day  and  a  delightful 
spot.  They  were  too  far  from  the  camp  to  be  disturbed 


JESS.  177 

by  its  rude  noise,  and  the  only  sound  that  reached  their 
ears  was  the  rippling  of  running  water  and  the  whispers 
of  the  wind,  odorous  with  the  breath  of  mimosa  blooms, 
as  it  stirred  the  stiff  gray  leaves  on  the  blue-gums. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  shade  of  the  little  house  that 
Jess  had  learned  to  love  as  she  had  never  loved  a  spot  be- 
fore, but  around  them  lay  the  flood  of  sunshine  shimmer- 
ing like  golden  water;  and  beyond  the  red  line  of  the 
fence  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  where  the  rich  pomegran- 
ate bloom  tried  to  blush  the  roses  down,  the  hot  air  danced 
merrily  above  the  rough  stone  wall  like  a  million  micro- 
scopic elves  at  play.  Peace  !  everywhere  was  peace  !  and 
in  it  the  full  heart  of  nature  beat  out  in  radiant  life. 
Peace  in  the  voice  of  the  turtle-doves  among  the  willows  ! 
peace  in  the  play  of  the  sunshine  and  the  murmur  of  the 
wind  !  peace  in  the  growing  flowers  and  hovering  butter- 
fly !  Jess  looked  out  at  the  wealth  and  glory  that  lay 
about  her,  and  thought  that  it  was  like  heaven;  and  then, 
giving  way  to  that  queer  melancholy  strain  in  her  nature, 
began  to  wonder  idly  how  many  human  beings  had  sat 
and  thought  the  same  things,  and  had  been  gathered  up 
into  the  azure  of  the  past  and  forgotten;  and  how  many 
would  sit  and  think  there  when  she  in  her  turn  had  been 
utterly  swept  away  into  that  gulf  from  whence  no  echo 
ever  comes!  But  what  did  it  matter?  The  sunshine 
would  still  flood  the  earth  with  gold,  the  water  would 
ripple,  and  the  butterflies  hover;  and  there  would  be  other 
women  to  sit  and  fold  their  hands  and  look  at  it  all,  and 
think  the  same  identical  thoughts,  beyond  which  the  hu- 
man intelligence  cannot  travel.  And  so  on  for  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  centuries,  till  at  last  the  old  world 
reaches  its  journey's  appointed  end,  and,  passing  from  the 
starry  spaces,  is  swallowed  up  with  those  it  bore. 

And  she — where  would  she  be?  Would  she  still  live 
on,  and  love  and  suffer  on  elsewhere,  or  was  it  all  a  cruel 
myth?  Was  she  merely  a  creature  bred  of  the  teeming 
12 


178  JESS. 

earth,  or  had  she  an  individuality  beyond  the  earth? 
What  awaited  her  after  sunset?  Sleep.  She  had  often 
hoped  that  it  was  sleep,  and  nothing  but  sleep.  But  now 
she  did  not  hope  that.  Her  life  had  centred  itself  round 
a  new  interest,  and  one  that  she  felt  could  never  die  while 
the  life  lasted.  She  hoped  for  a  future  now;  for  if  there 
were  a  future  for  her  there  would  be  one  for  him,  and  then 
her  day  would  come,  and  where  he  was  there  she  would 
be  also.  Oh,  sweet  mockery,  old  and  unsubstantial  thought, 
bright  dream  set  halowise  about  the  dull  head  of  life  ! 
Who  has  not  dreamed  it,  arid  yet  who  can  believe  in  it  ? 
And  yet  who  shall  say  that  it  may  not  be  true  ?  Though 
philosophers  and  scientists  smile  and  point  in  derision  to 
the  gross  facts  and  freaks  that  mark  our  passions,  is  it  not 
still  possible  that  there  may  be  a  place  where  the  love 
shall  live  when  the  lust  has  died;  and  where  Jess  will  find 
that  she  has  not  sat  in  vain  in  the  sunshine,  throwing  out 
her  pure  heart  towards  the  light  of  a  happiness  and  a  vis- 
ioned  glory  of  which,  for  some  few  minutes,  the  shadow 
seemed  to  lay  within  her? 

John  had  finished  his  pipe,  and,  although  she  did  not 
know  it,  was  watching  her  face,  which,  now  that  she  was 
off  her  guard,  was  no  longer  impassive,  but  seemed  to 
mirror  the  tender  and  glorious  hope  that  was  floating 
through  her  mind.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  her 
wide  eyes  were  full  of  a  soft,  strange  light,  while  on  the 
whole  countenance  was  a  look  of  eager  thought  and  spir- 
itualized desire  such  as  he  had  known  portrayed  in  ancient 
masterpieces  upon  the  face  of  the  Virgin  Mother.  Jess 
was  not,  except  as  regards  her  eyes  and  hair,  even  a  good- 
looking  person.  But  at  that  moment  John  thought  that 
her  face  was  touched  with  a  diviner  beauty  than  he  had 
yet  seen  on  the  face  of  woman.  It  thrilled  him  and  ap- 
pealed to  him,  not  as  Bessie's  beauty  had  appealed,  but  to 
that  other  side  of  his  nature,  of  which  Jess  alone  could 
turn  the  key.  Her  face  was  more  like  the  face  of  a  spirit 


JESS.  179 

than  a  human  being's,  and  it  almost  frightened  him  to 
see  it. 

"Jess,"  he  said  at  last,  "what  are  you  thinking  of?" 

She  started,  and  her  face  resumed  its  normal  air.  It 
was  as  though  a  mask  had  been  suddenly  set  upon  it. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?"  she  said. 

"Because  I  want  to  know.  I  never  saw  you  look  like 
that  before." 

She  laughed  a  little. 

"  You  would  think  me  foolish  if  I  told  you  what  I  was 
thinking  about.  Xever  mind,  it  has  gone  wherever 
thoughts  go.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  thinking  about 
now,  which  is — that  it  is  about  time  we  got  out  of  this 
place.  My  uncle  and  Bessie  will  be  half  distracted." 

"  We've  had  more  than  two  months  of  it  now.  The 
relieving  column  can't  be  far  off,"  suggested  John ;  for  these 
foolish  people  in  Pretoria  labored  under  a  firm  belief  that 
one  fine  morning  they  would  be  gratified  with  the  sight 
of  the  light  dancing  down  a  long  line  of  British  bayonets, 
and  of  Boers  evaporating  in  every  direction  like  storm- 
clouds  before  the  sun. 

Jess  shook  her  head.  She  was  beginning  to  lose  faith 
in  relieving  columns  that  never  came. 

"  If  we  don't  help  ourselves,  my  opinion  is  that  we  may 
stop  here  till  we  are  starved  out,  which  we  pretty  well  are. 
However,  it's  no  use  talking  about  it,  so  I'm  off  to  get  our 
rations.  Let's  see,  have  you  got  everything  you  want  ?" 

"  Everything,  thanks." 

"  Well,  then,  mind  you  stop  quiet  till  I  come  back." 

"Why,"  laughed  John,  "I  am  as  strong  as  a  horse." 

"  Possibly;  but  that  is  what  the  doctor  said,  you  know. 
Good-bye  !"  And  Jess  took  her  big  basket  and  started 
on  what  John  used  to  feebly  call  her  "  rational  under- 
taking." 

She  had  not  got  fifty  paces  from  the  door  before  she 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  form  seated  on  a 


180  JESS. 

familiar  pony.  The  form  was  fat  and  jovial-looking,  and 
the  pony  was  small  but  also  fat.  It  was  Hans  Coetzee — 
none  other ! 

Jess  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  Old  Hans  in  Pre- 
toria !  What  could  it  mean  ?  . 

"  Om  Coetzee  !  Om  Coetzee  !"  she  called,  as  he  came 
ambling  past  her,  evidently  making  for  the  Heidelberg 
road. 

The  old  Boer  pulled  up  his  pony,  and  gazed  around  him 
in  a  mystified  way. 

"  Here,  Om  Coetzee  !     Here  !" 

"  Allemachter  !"  he  said,  jerking  his  pony  round.  "  It's 
you,  Missie  Jess,  is  it  ?  Now  who  would  have  thought  of 
seeing  you  here  ?" 

"  Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you  here  ?"  she 
answered. 

"Yes,  yes;  it  seems  strange;  I  dare  say  that  it  seems 
strange.  But  I  am  a  messenger  of  peace,  like  Uncle 
Noah's  dove  in  the  ark,  you  know.  The  fact  is,"  and  he 
glanced  round  to  see  if  anybody  were  listening,  "  I  have 
been  sent  by  ^he  government  to  arrange  about  an  ex- 
change of  prisoners." 

"  The  government !     What  government  ?" 

"  What  government  ?  Why,  the  triumvirate,  of  course 
— whom  may  the  Lord  bless  and  prosper  as  he  did  Jonah 
when  he  walked  on  the  wall  of  the  city." 

"Joshua,  when  he  walked  round  the  wall  of  the  city,"  sug- 
gested Jess.  "  Jonah  walked  down  the  whale's  throat." 

"  Ah  !  to  be  sure,  so  he  did,  and  blew  a  trumpet  inside. 
I  remember  now;  though  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  he 
did  it.  The  fact  is  that  our  glorious  victories  have  quite 
confused  me.  Ah  !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  patriot ! 
The  dear  Lord  makes  strong  the  arm  of  the  patriot,  and 
takes  care  that  he  hits  his  man  well  in  the  middle." 

"  You  have  turned  wonderfully  patriotic  all  of  a  sud- 
den, Om  Coetzee,"  said  Jess,  tartly. 


JESS.  181 

"Yes,  missie,  yes;  I  am  a  patriot  to  the  bone  of  my 
back.  I  hate  the  English  government;  d — n  the  Eng- 
lish government !  Let  us  have  our  land  back  and  our 
Volksraad.  Almighty  !  I  saw  who  was  in  the  right  at 
Laing's  Nek  there.  Ah,  those  poor  rooibaatjes  !  I  shot 
four  of  them  myself;  two  as  they  came  up,  and  two  as 
they  ran  away,  and  the  last  one  went  head  over  heels  like 
a  buck.  Poor  man  !  I  cried  for  him  afterwards.  I  did 
not  like  going  to  fight  at  all,  but  Frank  Muller  sent  to  me 
and  said  that  if  I  did  not  go  he  would  have  me  shot.  Ah, 
he  is  a  devil  of  a  man,  that  Frank  Muller!  So  I  went, 
and  when  I  saw  how  the  dear  Lord  had  put  it  into  the 
heart  of  the  English  general  to  be  a  bigger  fool  even  that 
day  than  he  is  every  day,  and  to  try  and  drive  us  out  of 
Laing's  Nek  with  a  thousand  of  his  poor  rooibaatjes,  then, 
I  tell  you,  I  saw  where  the  right  lay,  and  I  said, '  D — n 
the  English  government !  What  is  the  English  govern- 
ment doing  here?'  and  after  Ingogo  I  said  it  again." 

"  Never  mind  all  that,  Om  Coetzee,"  broke  in  Jess.  "  I 
have  heard  you  tell  a  different  tale  before,  and  perhaps 
you  will  again.  Tell  me,  how  are  my  uncle  and  my  sis- 
ter ?  Are  they  at  the  farm  ?" 

"  Almighty  !  you  don't  suppose  that  I  have  been  there 
•  to  see,  do  you  ?  But,  yes,  I  have  heard  they  are  there. 
It  is  a  nice  place,  that  Mooifontein,  and  I  think  that  I 
shall  buy  it  when  we  have  turned  all  you  English  people 
out  of  the  land.  Frank  Muller  told  me  that  they  were 
there.  And  now  I  must  be  getting  on,  or  that  devil  of  a 
man,  Frank  Muller,  will  want  to  know  what  I  have  been 
about." 

"  Om  Coetzee,"  said  Jess,  "  will  you  do  something  for 
me  ?  We  are  old  friends,  you  know,  and  I  once  persuaded 
my  uncle  to  lend  you  five  hundred  pounds  when  all  your 
oxen  died  of  the  lungsick." 

"Yes,  yes,  it  shall  be  paid  back  one  day  —  when  we 
have  got  the  d d  Englishmen  out  of  the  country." 


182  JESS. 

And  he  began  to  gather  up  his  reins  preparatory  to  riding 
off. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?"  said  Jess,  catching  the  pony 
by  the  bridle. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it,  missie  ?  I  must  be  getting 
on.  That  devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller,  is  waiting  for  me 
with  the  prisoners  at  the  Rooihuis  Kraal." 

"  I  want  a  pass  for  myself  and  Captain  Niel,  and  an  es- 
cort. We  want  to  get  down  home." 

The  old  Boer  held  up  his  fat  hands  in  amazement. 

"  Almighty  !"  he  said,  "  it  is  impossible.  A  pass  ! — 
who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  Come,  I  must  be  go- 
ing." 

"  It  is  not  impossible,  Uncle  Coetzee,  as  you  know,"  said 
Jess.  "  Listen  !  If  I  get  that  pass  I  will  speak  to  my 
uncle  about  the  five  hundred  pounds.  Perhaps  he  would 
not  want  it  all  back  again." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  Boer.  "  Well,  we  are  old  friends,  mis- 
sie, and  'never  desert  a  friend,'  that  is  my  saying.  Al- 
mighty !  I  will  ride  a  hundred  miles — I  will  swim  through 
blood  for  a  friend.  Well,  well,  I  will  see.  It  will  depend 
upon  that  devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller.  Where  are  you 
to  be  found  —  in  the  white  house  yonder?  Good.  To- 
morrow the  escort  will  come  in  with  the  prisoners,  and  if 
I  can  get  it  they  will  bring  the  pass.  But,  missie,  remem- 
ber the  five  hundred  pounds.  If  you  do  not  speak  to 
your  uncle  about  that  I  shall  be  even  with  him.  Al- 
mighty !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a  good  heart,  and  to 
love  to  help  your  friends  !  Well,  good-day,  good-day," 
and  off  he  cantered  on  his  fat  pony,  his  broad  face  shin- 
ing with  a  look  of  unutterable  benevolence. 

Jess  cast  a  look  of  contempt  after  him,  and  then  went 
on  towards  the  camp  to  fetch  the  rations. 

When. she  got  back  to  "The  Palatial"  she  told  John 
what  had  taken  place,  and  suggested  that  it  would  be  as 
well,  in  case  there  should  be  a  favorable  reply  to  her  re- 


JESS.  183 

quest,  to  have  everything  prepared  for  a  start;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, the  cart  was  brought  down  and  stood  outside 
"  The  Palatial,"  and  John  unscrewed  the  patent-caps  and 
filled  them  with  castor-oil,  and  ordered  Monti  to  keep  the 
horses,  which  were  all  wrell,  though  "  poor "  from  want 
of  proper  food,  well  within  hail. 

Meanwhile,  old  Hans  pursued  the  jerky  tenor  of  his 
way  for  an  hour  or  so,  till  he  came  in  sight  of  a  small  red 
house. 

Presently,  from  the  shadow  in  front  of  the  red  house 
emerged  a  horseman,  mounted  on  a  powerful  black  horse. 
The  horseman — a  stern,  handsome,  bearded  man — put  his 
hand  about  his  eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  sun,  and 
gazed  up  the  road.  Then  he  seemed  to  suddenly  strike 
his  spurs  into  the  horse,  for  the  animal  gave  a  sudden 
bound  forward,  and  came  sweeping  towards  Hans  at  a 
hand-gallop. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  that  devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller  !"  ejacu- 
lated Hans.  "  Now  I  wonder  what  he  wants  ?  I  always 
feel  cold  down  the  back  when  he  comes  near  me." 

By  this  time  the  plunging  black  horse  was  being  reined 
up  alongside  of  his  pony  so  sharply  that  it  reared  till  its 
great  hoofs  were  pawing  the  air  within  a  few  inches  of 
Hans's  head. 

"  Almighty  !"  said  the  old  man,  tugging  his  pony  round. 
"  Be  careful,  nephew,  be  careful !  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
crushed  like  a  beetle." 

Frank  Muller — for  it  was  he — smiled.  He  had  made 
his  horse  rear  purposely,  in  order  to  frighten  the  old 
man,  whom  he  knew  to  be  an  arrant  coward. 

"Why  have  you  been  so  long?  and  what  have  you 
done  with  the  Englishmen  ?  You  should  have  been  back 
half  an  hour  ago." 

"And  so  I  should,  nephew,  and  so  I  should,  if  I  had 
not  been  detained.  Surely  you  do  not  suppose  that  I 
would  linger  in  the  accursed  place  ?  Bah  !"  and  he  spat 


184  JESS. 

upon  the  ground,  "  it  stinks  of  Englishmen.  I  cannot  get 
the  taste  of  them  out  of  my  mouth." 

"You  are  a  liar,  Uncle  Coetzee,"  was  the  cool  answer. 
"English  with  the  English,  Boer  with  the  Boer.  You 
blow  neither  hot  nor  cold.  Be  careful  lest  we  show  you 
up.  I  know  you  and  your  talk.  Do  you  remember  what 
you  were  saying  to  the  Englishman  Niel  in  the  inn  yard 
at  Wakkerstroom  when  you  turned  and  saw  me  ?  I  heard, 
and  I  do  not  forget.  You  know  what  happens  to  a  '  land 
betrayer '  ?" 

Hans's  teeth  positively  chattered,  and  his  florid  face 
blanched  with  fear. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  nephew  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  —  ah  !  —  I  mean  nothing.  I  was  only  speaking  a 
word  of  warning  to  you  as  a  friend.  I  have  heard  things 
said  about  you  by — "  and  he  dropped  his  voice  and  whis- 
pered a  name,  at  the  sound  of  which  poor  Hans  turned 
whiter  than  ever. 

"  Well,"  went  on  his  tormentor,  when  he  had  sufficiently 
enjoyed  his  terror,  "  what  sort  of  terms  did  you  make  in 
Pretoria  ?" 

"  Oh,  good,  nephew,  good,"  he  gabbled,  delighted  to  get 
on  to  a  fresh  subject.  "I  found  the  Englishmen  supple 
as  a  tanned  skin.  They  will  give  up  their  twelve  prison- 
ers for  our  four.  The  men  are  to  be  in  by  ten  to-morrow. 
I  told  their  commandant  about  Laing's  Nek  and  Ingogo, 
and  he  would  not  believe  me.  He  thought  I  lied,  like 
himself.  They  are  getting  hungry  there  now.  I  saw  a 
Hottentot  I  knew  there,  and  he  told  me  that  their  bones 
were  beginning  to  show." 

"  They  will  be  through  the  skin  before  long,"  muttered 
Frank.  "  Well,  here  we  are  at  the  house.  The  general 
is  there.  He  has  just  come  up  from  Heidelberg,  and  you 
can  make  your  report  to  him.  Did  you  find  out  about  the 
Englishman — Captain  Niel  ?  Is  it  true  that  he  is  dead  ?" 

"  No,  he  is  not  dead.     By  the  way,  I  met  Om  Croft's 


JESS.  185 

niece — the  dark  one.  She  is  shut  up  there  with  the  captain, 
and  she  begged  me  to  try  and  get  them  a  pass  to  go  home. 
Of  course  I  told  her  that  it  was  nonsense,  and  that  they 
must  stop  and  starve  with  the  others." 

Muller,  who  had  been  listening  to  this  last  piece  of  in- 
formation with  intense  interest,  suddenly  checked  his 
horse  and  answered: 

"  Did  you  ?  Then  you  are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  thought 
you.  Who  gave  you  authority  to  decide  whether  they 
should  have  a  pass  or  not  ?" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    GREAT    MAN. 

COMPLETELY  overcome  by  this  last  remark,  Hans  col- 
lapsed like  a  jelly-fish  out  of  water,  and  reflected  in  his 
worthless  old  heart  that  Frank  Muller  was  indeed  "a 
devil  of  a  man."  By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  door 
of  the  little  house,  and  were  dismounting,  and  in  another 
minute  Hans  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the 
leaders  of  the  rebellion. 

He  was  a  short,  ugly  man  of  about  fifty-five,  with  a  big 
nose,  small  eyes,  straight  hair,  and  a  stoop.  The  fore- 
head, however,  was  good,  and  the  whole  face  betrayed  a 
keenness  and  ability  far  beyond  the  average.  The  great 
man  was  seated  at  a  plain  deal  table,  writing  something 
with  evident  difficulty  upon  a  dirty  sheet  of  paper,  and 
smoking  a  very  large  pipe. 

"  Sit,  heeren,  sit,"  he  said  when  they  entered,  waving 
the  stem  of  his  pipe  towards  a  deal  bench.  Accordingly 
they  sat  down  without  even  removing  their  hats,  and,  pull- 
ing out  their  pipes,  proceeded  to  light  them. 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  God, do  you  spell  'excellency'?" 
asked  the  general  presently.  "I  have  spelled  it  in  four 
different  ways,  and  each  one  looks  worse  than  the  last." 

Frank  Muller  gave  the  required  information.  Hans  in 
his  heart  thought  he  spelled  it  wrong,  but  he  did  not  dare 
to  say  so.  Then  came  another  pause,  only  interrupted  by 
the  slow  scratching  of  a  quill  across  the  dirty  paper,  dur- 
ing which  Hans  nearly  went  to  sleep;  for  the  weather 
was  very  hot,  and  he  was  tired  with  his  ride. 


JESS.  187 

"  There  !"  said  the  writer,  presently,  gazing  at  his  hand- 
writing with  an  almost  childish  air  of  satisfaction,  "  that 
is  done.  A  curse  on  the  man  who  invented  writing ! 
Our  fathers  did  very  well  without  it;  why  should  not  we? 
Though,  to  be  sure,  it  is  useful  for  treaties  with  the  Kaf- 
firs. I  don't  believe  you  have  told  me  right  now  about 
that  'excellency,'  nephew.  Well,  it  will  have  to  serve. 
When  a  man  writes  such  a  letter  as  that  to  the  represen- 
tative of  the  English  queen  he  needn't  mind  his  spelling; 
it  will  be  swallowed  with  the  rest,"  and  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  laughed  softly. 

"  Well,  Meinheer  Coetzee,  what  is  it  ?  Ah,  I  know:  the 
prisoners.  Well,  what  did  you  do  ?" 

Hans  told  his  story,  and  was  rambling  on  when  the  gen- 
eral cut  him  short. 

"  So,  cousin,  so  !  You  talk  like  an  ox-wagon — rumble 
and  creak  and  jolt,  a  devil  of  a  noise  and  turning  of 
wheels,  but  very  little  progress.  They  will  give  up  the 
twelve  men  for  our  four,  will  they  ?  Well,  that  is  about 
a  fair  proportion.  No,  it  is  not,  though;  four  Boers  are 
better  than  twelve  Englishmen  any  day — ay,  better  than 
forty !"  and  he  laughed  again.  "  Well,  the  men  shall  be 
sent  in  as  you  arranged;  they  will  help  to  eat  up  their  last 
biscuits.  Good-day,  cousin.  Stop,  though;  one  word  be- 
fore you  go.  I  have  heard  about  you  at  times,  cousin.  I 
have  heard  it  said  that  you  cannot  be  trusted.  No\v,  I 
don't  know  if  that  is  so.  I  don't  believe  it  myself.  Only, 
listen;  if  it  should  be  so,  and  I  should  find  you  out,  by 
God  !  I  will  have  you  cut  into  rimpis  with  afterox  sjam- 
bocks,  and  then  shoot  you  and  send  in  your  carcass  as  a 
present  to  the  English,"  and  as  he  said  it  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  brought  down  his  fist  upon  the  deal  table  with  a 
bang  that  produced  a  most  unpleasant  effect  upon  poor 
Hans's  nerves,  and  a  cold  gleam  of  sudden  ferocity  flick- 
ered in  the  small  eyes,  very  discomforting  for  a  timid  man 
to  behold,  however  innocent  he  knew  himself  to  be. 


188  JESS. 

"  I  swear — "  he  began  to  babble. 

"  Swear  not  at  all,  cousin  ;  you  are  an  elder  of  the 
Church.  There  is  no  need  to,  besides.  I  told  you  I  did 
not  believe  it  of  you;  only  I  have  had  one  or  two  cases 
of  this  sort  of  thing  lately.  No,  never  mind  who  they 
were.  You  will  not  meet  them  about  again.  Good-day, 
cousin,  good  -  day.  Forget  not  to  thank  the  Almighty 
God  for  our  glorious  victories.  He  will  expect  it  from  an 
elder  of  the  Church." 

Poor  Hans  departed  crestfallen,  feeling  that  the  days 
of  him  who  tries,  however  skilfully  and  impartially,  to  sit 
upon  two  stools  at  once  are  not  happy  days,  and  some- 
times threaten  to  be  short  ones.  And  supposing  that  the 
Englishmen  should  win  after  all — as  in  his  heart  he 
hoped  they  might — how  should  he  then  prove  that  he  had 
hoped  it  ?  The  general  watched  him  waddle  through  the 
door  from  under  his  pent  brows,  a  half  -  humorous,  half- 
menacing  expression  on  his  face. 

"A  windbag;  a  coward;  a  man  without  a  heart  for 
good  or  for  evil.  Bah  !  nephew,  that  is  Hans  Coetzee. 
I  have  known  him  for  years.  Well,  let  him  go.  He 
would  sell  us  if  he  could,  but  I  have  frightened  him  now, 
and,  what  is  more,  if  I  see  reason,  he  shall  find  I  never 
bark  unless  I  mean  to  bite.  Well,  enough  of  him.  Let 
me  see,  have  I  thanked  you  yet  for  your  share  in  Majuba? 
Ah  !  that  was  a  glorious  victory  !  How  many  were  there 
of  you  when  you  started  up  the  mountain  ?" 

"  Eighty  men." 

"  And  how  many  at  the  end  ?" 

"  One  hundred  and  seventy — perhaps  a  few  more." 

"  And  how  many  of  you  were  hit  ?" 

"  Three — one  killed,  two  wounded,  and  a  few  scratches." 

"  Wonderful,  wonderful  !  It  was  a  brave  deed,  and  be- 
cause it  was  so  brave  it  was  successful.  He  must  have 
been  mad,  that  English  general.  Who  shot  him?" 

"  Breytenbach.     Colley  held  up  a  white  handkerchief 


JESS.  189 

in  bis  hand,  and  Breytenbach  fired,  and  down  went  the 
general  all  of  a  heap,  and  then  they  all  ran  helter-skelter 
down  the  hill.  Yes,  it  was  a  wonderful  thing  !  They 
could  have  beat  us  back  with  their  left  hand.  That  is 
what  comes  of  having  a  righteous  cause,  uncle." 

The  general  smiled  grimly.  "That  is  what  comes  of 
having  men  who  can  shoot,  and  who  understand  the 
country,  and  are  not  afraid.  Well,  it  is  done,  and  well 
done.  The  stars  in  their  courses  have  fought  for  us, 
Frank  Muller,  and  so  far  we  have  conquered.  But  how  is 
it  to  end  ?  You  are  no  fool;  tell  me,  how  will  it  end  ?" 

Frank  Muller  rose  and  walked  twice  up  and  down  the 
room  before  he  answered.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  ?"  he  asked, 
and  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  went  on :  "  It 
will  end  in  our  getting  the  country  back.  That  is  what 
this  armistice  means.  There  are  thousands  of  rooibaatjes 
there  at  the  Nek;  they  cannot  therefore  be  waiting  for 
soldiers.  They  are  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  yield, 
uncle.  We  shall  get  the  country  back,  and  you  will  be 
president  of  the  republic." 

The  old  man  took  a  pull  at  his  pipe.  "You  have  a 
long  head,  Frank,  and  it  has  not  run  away  with  you.  The 
English  government  is  going  to  give  in.  The  stars  in 
their  courses  continue  to  fight  for  us.  The  English  gov- 
ernment is  as  mad  as  its  officers.  They  will  give  in.  But 
it  means  more  than  that,  Frank;  I  will  tell  you  what  it 
means.  It  means  " — and  again  he  let  his  heavy  hand  fall 
upon  the  deal  table — "  the  triumph  of  the  Boer  throughout 
South  Africa.  Bah  !  Burgers  was  not  such  a  fool  after 
all  when  he  talked  of  his  great  Dutch  republic.  I  have 
been  twice  to  England  now,  and  I  know  the  Englishman. 
I  could  measure  him  for  his  veldtschoens  (shoes).  He 
knows  nothing — nothing.  He  understands  his  shop,  he  is 
buried  in  his  shop,  and  can  think  of  nothing  else.  Some- 
times he  goes  away  and  starts  his  shop  in  other  places,  and 
buries  himself  in  it,  and  makes  it  a  big  shop,  because  he 


190  JESS. 

understands  shops.  But  it  is  all  a  question  of  shops,  and 
if  the  shops  abroad  interfere  with  the  shops  at  home,  or  if 
it  is  thought  that  they  do,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing, 
then  the  shops  at  home  put  an  end  to  the  shops  abroad. 
Bah  !  they  talk  a  great  deal  there  in  England,  but,  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  it  is  shop,  shop,  shop.  They  talk  of  honor, 
and  patriotism  too,  but  they  both  give  way  to  the  shop. 
And  I  tell  you  this,  Frank  Muller:  it  is  the  shop  that  has 
made  the  English,  and  it  is  the  shop  that  will  destroy 
them.  Well,  so  be  it.  We  shall  have  our  slice;  Africa 
for  the  Africanders.  The  Transvaal  for  the  Transvaalers 
first,  then  the  rest.  Shepstone  was  a  clever  man;  he 
would  have  made  it  all  into  an  English  shop,  with  the 
black  men  for  shopboys.  We  have  changed  all  that,  but 
we  ought  to  be  grateful  to  Shepstone.  The  English  have 
paid  our  debts,  they  have  eaten  up  the  Zulus,  who  would 
otherwise  have  destroyed  us,  and  they  have  let  us  beat 
them,  and  now  we  are  going  to  have  our  turn  again,  and, 
as  you  say,  I  shall  be  the  first  president." 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  replied  the  younger  man,  calmly,  "  and  I 
shall  be  the  second." 

The  great  man  looked  at  him.  "  You  are  a  bold  man," 
he  said;  "but  boldness  makes  the  man  and  the  country. 
I  dare  say  you  will.  You  have  the  head;  and  one  clear 
head  can  turn  many  fools,  as  the  rudder  does  the  ship, 
and  guide  them  when  they  are  turned.  I  dare  say  that 
you  will  be  president  one  day." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  president,  and  when  I  am  I  will  drive 
the  Englishmen  out  of  South  Africa.  This  I  will  do  with 
the  help  of  the  Natal  Zulus.  Then  I  will  destroy  the  na- 
tives, as  T'Chaka  destroyed,  keeping  only  enough  for 
slaves.  That  is  my  plan,  uncle;  it  is  a  good  one." 

"It  is  a  big  one;  I  am  not  certain  that  it  is  a  good  one. 
But,  good  or  bad,  who  shall  say  ?  You  may  carry  it  out, 
nephew,  if  you  live.  A  man  with  brains  and  wealth  may 
carry  out  anything  if  he  lives.  But  there  is  a  God.  I  be- 


JESS.  191 

lieve,  Frank  Muller,  that  there  is  a  God,  and  I  believe  that 
God  sets  a  limit  to  a  man's  doings.  If  he  is  going  too  far, 
God  kills  him.  If  you  live,  Frank  Muller,  you  will  do 
these  things,  but  perhaps  God  will  kill  you.  Who  can 
say?  You  will  do  what  God  wills,  not  what  you  will." 

The  elder  man  was  speaking  seriously  now.  Muller  felt 
that  this  was  none  of  the  whining  cant  people  in  authority 
among  the  Boers  find  it  desirable  to  adopt.  It  was  what 
he  thought,  and  it  chilled  Muller  in  spite  of  his  pretended 
scepticism,  as  the  sincere  belief  of  an  intellectual  man, 
however  opposite  to  our  own,  is  apt  to  chill  us  into  doubt 
of  ourselves  and  our  opinions.  For  a  moment  his  slumber- 
ing superstition  awoke,  and  he  felt  half  afraid.  Between 
him  and  that  bright  future  of  blood  and  power  lay  a  chill 
gulf.  Suppose  that  gulf  should  be  death,  and  the  future 
nothing  but  a  dream — or  worse  !  His  face  fell  as  the  idea 
occurred  to  him,  and  the  general  noticed  it. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "he  who  lives  will  see.  Mean- 
while you  have  done  good  service  to  the  state,  and  you 
shall  have  your  reward,  cousin.  If  I  am  president " — he 
laid  emphasis  on  this,  the  meaning  of  which  his  listener  did 
not  miss — "  if  by  the  support  of  my  followers  I  become 
president,  I  will  not  forget  you.  And  now  I  must  upsad- 
dle  and  get  back.  I  want  to  be  at  Laing's  Nek  in  sixty 
hours,  to  wait  for  General  Wood's  answer.  You  will  see 
about  the  sending  in  of  those  prisoners;"  and  he  knocked 
out  his  pipe  and  rose. 

"  By  the  way,  meinheer,"  said  Muller,  suddenly  adopt- 
ing a  tone  of  respect,  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask." 

"  What  is  it,  nephew  ?" 

"  I  want  a  pass  for  two  friends  of  mine — English  people — 
in  Pretoria  to  go  down  to  their  relations  in  Wakkerstroom 
district.  They  sent  a  message  to  me  by  Hans  Coetzee." 

"  I  don't  like  giving  passes,"  answered  the  general  with 
some  irritation.  "  You  know  what  it  means,  letting  out 
messengers.  I  wonder  you  ask  me." 


192  JESS. 

"  It  is  a  small  favor,  meinheer,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
it  will  much  matter.  Pretoria  will  not  be  besieged  much 
longer.  I  am  under  an  obligation  to  the  people." 

"Well,  well,  as  you  like;  but,  if  any  harm  comes  of 
it,  you  will  be  held  responsible.  Write  the  pass;  I  will 
sign  it." 

Frank  Muller  sat  down  and  wrote  and  dated  the  pa- 
per. Its  contents  were  simple:  "Pass  the  bearers  un- 
harmed." 

"  That  is  big  enough  to  drive  a  wagon  along,"  said  the 
general,  when  it  was  handed  to  him  to  sign.  "It  might 
mean  all  Pretoria." 

"  I  am  not  certain  if  there  are  two  or  three  of  them," 
answered  Muller,  carelessly. 

"Well,  well,  you  are  responsible.  Give  me  the  pen;" 
and  he  scrawled  his  big,  coarse  signature  at  the  foot. 

"I  propose,  with  your  permission,  to  escort  the  cart 
down  with  two  other  men.  As  you  are  aware,  I  go  down 
to  take  the  command  over  of  the  Wakkerstroom  district 
to-morrow." 

KVery  good.  It  is  your  affair;  you  are  responsible. 
I  shall  ask  no  questions,  provided  your  friends  do  no  hurt 
to  the  cause;"  and  he  left  the  room  without  another 
word. 

When  the  great  man  had  gone,  Frank  Muller  sat  down 
again  on  the  bench  and  looked  at  the  pass,  and  communed 
with  himself,  for  he  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to  commune 
with  anybody  else.  "The  Lord  hath  delivered  mine  en- 
emy into  mine  hand,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  and  stroked 
his  golden  beard.  "Well,  well,  I  will  not  waste  his  mer- 
ciful opportunities  as  I  did  that  day  out  buck-shooting. 
And  then  for  Bessie.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  kill  the 
old  man  too.  I  am  sorry  for  that,  but  it  can't  be  helped; 
besides,  if  anything  should  happen  to  Jess,  Bessie  will 
take  Mooifontein,  and  that  is  worth  having.  Not  that  I 
want  more  land;  I  have  enough.  Yes,  I  will  marry  her. 


JESS.  193 

It  would  serve  her  right  if  I  didn't;  but,  after  all,  mar- 
riage is  more  respectable,  and  also  one  has  more  hold  of 
a  wife.  Nobody  will  interfere  for  her.  Then,  she  will 
be  of  use  to  me  by  and  by,  for  a  beautiful  woman  is  a 
power  even  among  these  fellow-countrymen  of  mine,  if 
only  a  man  knows  how  to  bait  his  lines  with  her.  Yes,  I 
shall  marry  her.  Bah!  that  is  the  way  to  win  a  woman — 
by  capture;  and,  what  is  more,  they  like  it.  It  makes  her 
worth  winning  too.  It  will  be  a  courtship  of  blood. 
Well,  the  kisses  will  be  the  sweeter,  and  in  the  end  she 
will  love  me  the  more  for  what  I  have  dared  for  her.  So, 
Frank  Muller,  so!  Ten  years  ago  you  said  to  yourself: 
'  There  are  three  things  worth  having  in  the  world — first, 
wealth;  secondly,  women,  if  they  take  your  fancy,  or,  bet- 
ter still,  one  woman,  if  you  desire  her  above  all  others; 
thirdly,  power.'  Now,  you  have  got  the  wealth,  for  one 
way  and  another  you  are  the  richest  man  in  the  Transvaal. 
In  a  week's  time  you  will  have  the  woman  you  love,  and 
who  is  sweeter  to  you  than  all  the  world  besides.  In  five 
years'  time  you  will  have  the  power — absolute  power. 
That  old  man  is  clever;  he  will  be  president.  But  I  am 
cleverer.  I  shall  soon  take  his  seat,  thus  " — and  he  rose 
and  seated  himself  in  the  general's  chair — "  and  he  will 
go  down  a  step  and  take  mine.  Ay,  and  then  I  will  reign. 
My  tongue  shall  be  honey  and  my  hand  iron.  I  will  pass 
over  the  land  like  a  storm.  I  will  drive  the  English  out 
with  the  help  of  the  Kaffirs,  and  then  I  will  kill  the  Kaffirs 
and  take  their  land.  Ah!" — and  his  eyes  flashed  and  his 
nostrils  dilated  as  he  said  it  to  himself — "  then  life  will  be 
worth  living!  What  a  thing  is  power!  What  a  thing  it 
is  to  be  able  to  destroy!  Take  that  Englishman,  my  rival: 
to-day  he  is  well  and  strong;  in  three  days  he  will  be 
gone  utterly,  and  I — I  shall  have  sent  him  away.  That  is 
power.  But  when  the  time'  comes  that  I  have  only  to 
stretch  out  my  hand  to  send  thousands  after  him! — that  will 
be  absolute  power;  and  then  with  Bessie  I  shall  be  happy." 
13 


194  JESS. 

And  so  he  dreamed  on  for  an  hour  or  more,  till  at  last 
the  fumes  of  his  untutored  imagination  actually  drowned 
his  reason  in  spiritual  intoxication.  Picture  after  picture 
rose  and  unrolled  itself  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  saw 
himself  as  president  addressing  the  Volksraad,  and  com- 
pelling it  to  his  will.  He  saw  himself,  the  supreme  gen- 
eral of  a  great  host,  defeating  the  forces  of  England  with 
awful  carnage,  and  driving  them  before  him;  ay,  he  even 
selected  the  battle-ground  on  the  slopes  of  the  Biggarsgerg 
in  Natal.  Then  he  saw  himself  again,  sweeping  the  na- 
tives but  of  South  Africa  with  the  unrelenting  besom  of 
his  might,  and  ruling  unquestioned  over  a  submissive  peo- 
ple. And,  last  of  all,  he  saw  something  glittering  at  his 
feet — it  was  a  crown! 

This  was  the  climax  of  his  intoxication.  Then  there 
came  an  anticlimax.  The  rich  imagination  which  had 
been  leading  him  on  as  a  gaudy  butterfly  does  a  child, 
suddenly  changed  color  and  dropped  to  earth;  and  then 
rose  up  in  his  mind  the  memory  of  the  general's  words: 
"  God  sets  a  limit  to  a  man's  doings.  If  he  is  going  too 
far,  God  kills  him." 

The  butterfly  had  settled  on  a  coffin! 


CHAPTER  XXL 

JESS  GETS  A  ?ASS. 

ABOUT  half-past  ten  on  the  morning  following  her  in- 
terview with  Hans  Coetzee,  Jess  was  at  "The  Palatial" 
as  usual,  and  John  was  just  finishing  packing  the  cart 
with  such  few  goods  as  they  possessed.  There  was  not 
much  chance  of  its  being  of  any  material  use,  for  he  did 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  expect  that  they  would  get  the 
pass;  but,  as  he  cheerfully  said,  it  was  as  good  an  amuse- 
ment as  any  other. 

"  I  say,  Jess,"  he  sung  out  presently,  "  come  here." 

"  What  for  ?"  answered  Jess,  who  was  seated  on  the  door- 
step mending  something,  and  looking  at  her  favorite  view. 

"  Because  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

She  got  up  aud  wrent,  feeling  rather  angry  with  herself 
for  going. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  tartly,  "  here  I  am.     What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  have  finished  packing  the  cart,  that's  all." 

"  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  brought  me 
round  here  to  say  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  have;  exercise  is  good  for  the  young." 
And  then  he  laughed,  and  she  laughed  too. 

It  was  all  nothing — nothing  at  all — but  somehow  it  was 
very  delightful.  Certainly  mutual  affection,  even  when 
unexpressed,  has  a  way  of  making  things  go  happily,  and 
can  find  something  to  laugh  at  anywhere. 

Just  then,  who  should  come  up  but  Mrs.  Neville,  in  a 
great  state  of  excitement,  and,  as  usual,  fanning  herself 
with  her  hat. 


196  JESS. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Captain  Niel  ?  the  prisoners  have 
come  in,  and  I  heard  one  of  the  Boers  in  charge  say  that 
he  had  a  pass  signed  by  the  Boer  general  for  some  English 
people,  and  that  he  was  coming  over  to  see  about  them 
presently.  Who  can  it  be  ?" 

"  It  is  us,"  said  Jess,  quickly.  "  We  are  going  home. 
I  saw  Hans  Coetzee  yesterday,  and  begged  him  to  try  and 
get  us  a  pass,  and  I  suppose  he  has." 

"My  word!  going  to  get  out?  well,  you  are  lucky!  Let 
me  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  to  my  great-uncle  at  the 
Cape.  You  must  post  it  when  you  can.  He  is  ninety- 
four,  and  rather  soft,  but  I  dare  say  he  will  like  to  hear 
from  me,"  and  she  bundled  off  into  the  house  to  give  her 
aged  relative  (who,  by  the  way,  labored  under  the  im- 
pression that  she  was  still  a  little  girl  of  four  years  of 
age)  as  minute  an  account  of  the  siege  of  Pretoria  as  time 
would  allow. 

"  Well,  John,  you  had  better  tell  Mouti  to  put  the 
horses  in.  We  shall  have  to  start  presently,"  said  Jess. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  pulling  his  beard  thoughtfully,  "  I  sup- 
pose that  we  shall;"  adding,  by  way  of  an  afterthought, 
"  Are  you  glad  to  go  ?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  passion  and  a  stamp 
of  the  foot,  and  then  turned  and  entered  the  house  again. 

"Mouti,"  said  John  to  the  Zulu,  who  was  lounging 
around  in  a  way  characteristic  of  that  intelligent  but  unin- 
dustrious  race,  "inspan  the  horses.  We  are  going  back  to 
Mooifontein." 

"Koos"  (chief),  said  the  Zulu  unconcernedly,  and  start- 
ed on  the  errand  as  though  it  were  the  most  every-day  oc- 
currence to  drive  off  home  out  of  a  closely-beleaguered 
town.  That  is  another  beauty  of  the  Zulu  race:  you  can- 
not astonish  them.  They,  no  doubt,  consider  that  that, 
to  them,  extraordinary  mixture  of  wisdom  and  insanity, 
the  white  man,  is,  as  the  Agnostic  French  critic  said  in 
despair  of  the  prophet  Zerubbabel,  "  capable  de  tout." 


JESS.  197 

John  stood  and  watched  the  inspanning  absently.  The 
fact  was  that  he,  too,  was  conscious  of  a  sensation  of  re- 
gret. He  felt  ashamed  of  himself  for  it,  but  there  it  was; 
he  was  sorry  to  leave  the  place.  For  the  last  week  or  so 
he  had  been  living  in  a  dream,  and  everything  outside  that 
dream  was  blurred  and  indistinct  as  a  landscape  in  a  fog. 
He  knew  the  things  were  there,  but  he  did  not  quite  ap- 
preciate their  relative  size  and  position.  The  only  real 
thing  was  his  dream ;  all  else  was  as  vague  as  those  far-off 
people  and  events  that  we  lose  in  infancy  and  find  again 
in  old  age. 

And  now  there  would  be  an  end  of  dreaming;  the  fog 
would  lift,  and  he  must  face  the  facts.  Jess,  with  whom 
he  had  dreamed,  would  go  away  to  Europe  and  he  would 
marry  Bessie,  and  all  this  Pretoria  business  would  glide 
away  into  the  past  like  a  watch  in  the  night.  Well,  it 
must  be  so;  it  was  right  and  proper  that  it  should  be  so, 
and  he  for  one  was  not  going  to  flinch  from  his  duty;  but 
he  would  have  been  more  than  human  had  he  not  felt  the 
pang  of  awakening.  It  was  all  so  very  unfortunate. 

By  this  time  Mouti  had  got  the  horses  up,  and  asked  if 
he  was  to  in  span. 

"  No  ;  wait  a  bit,"  said  John.  "  Very  likely  it  is  all 
rot,"  he  added  to  himself. 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
caught  sight  of  two  armed  Boers  of  a  peculiarly  unpleas- 
ant type  and  rough  appearance  riding  across  the  veldt  tow- 
ards "  The  Palatial "  gate,  escorted  by  four  carbineers. 
At  the  gate  they  stopped,  and  one  of  them  dismounted 
and  came  up  to  where  he  was  standing  by  the  stable- 
door. 

"  Captain  Niel  ?"  he  said,  interrogatively,  in  English. 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"  Then  here  is  a  letter  for  you  ;"  and  he  handed  him 
a  folded  paper. 

John  opened  it — it  had  no  envelope — and  read  as  follows: 


198  JESS. 

"  SIR, — The  bearer  of  this  has  with  him  a  pass  which  it 
is  understood  that  you  desire,  giving  you  and  Miss  Jess 
Croft  a  safe  conduct  to  Mooifontein,  in  the  Wakkerstroom 
district  of  the  republic.  The  only  condition  attached  to 
the  pass,  which  is  signed  by  one  of  the  honorable  trium- 
virate, is  that  you  must  carry  no  despatches  out  of  Pre- 
toria. Upon  your  giving  your  word  of  honor  to  the 
bearer  that  you  will  not  do  this  he  will  hand  you  the 
pass." 

This  letter,  which  was  fairly  written  and  in  good  Eng- 
lish, had  no  signature. 

"  Who  wrote  this  ?"  asked  John  of  the  Boer. 

"  That  is  no  affair  of  yours,"  was  the  curt  reply.  "  Will 
you  pass  your  word  about  the  despatches  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Good.  Here  is  the  pass  ;"  and  he  handed  over  that 
document  to  John.  It  was  in  the  same  handwriting  as 
the  letter,  but  signed  by  the  Boer  general. 

John  examined  it,  and  then  called  to  Jess  to  come  and 
translate  it.  She  was  on  her  way  round  the  corner  of  the 
house  as  he  did  so,  having  heard  the  voice  of  the  Boer. 

"  It  means,  '  Pass  the  bearers  unharmed,' "  she  said, 
"and  the  signature  is  correct.  I  have  seen  the  general's 
signature  before." 

"  When  must  we  start  ?"  asked  John. 

"At  once,  or  not  at  all." 

"I  must  drive  round  by  the  headquarter  camp  to  ex- 
plain about  my  going.  They  will  think  that  I  have  run 
away." 

To  this  the  Boer  demurred,  but  finally,  after  going  to 
the  gate  to  consult  his  companion,  consented,  and  the  two 
rode  back  to  the  headquarter  camp,  saying  that  they 
would  wait  for  the  cart  there,  whereupon  the  horses  were 
iuspanned. 

In  five  minutes  everything  was  ready,  and  the  cart  was 


JESS.  199 

standing  in  the  roadway  in  front  of  the  little  gate.  After 
he  had  looked  to  all  the  straps  and  buckles,  and  seen  that 
everything  was  properly  packed,  John  went  to  call  Jess. 
He  found  her  standing  by  the  doorsteps,  looking  out  at 
her  favorite  view.  Her  hand  was  placed  sideways  against 
her  forehead,  as  though  to  shade  her  eyes  from  the  sun. 
But  where  she  was  standing  there  was  no  sun,  and  John 
could  not  help  guessing  why  she  was  shading  her  eyes. 
She  was  crying  at  leaving  the  place  in  that  quiet,  harrow- 
ing sort  of  way  that  some  women  have  ;  that  is  to  say,  a 
few  big  tears  were  rolling  down  her  face.  John  felt  a 
lump  rise  in  his  own  throat  at  the  sight,  and  very  naturally 
relieved  his  feelings  in  rough  language. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  you  after  ?"  he  asked.  "  Are  you 
going  to  keep  the  horses  standing  all  day  ?" 

Jess  did  not  resent  this.  The  probability  is  that  she 
guessed  its  reason.  And  besides,  it  is  a  melancholy  fact 
that  women  rather  like  being  sworn  at  than  otherwise, 
provided  that  the  swearer  is  the  man  they  are  attached  to. 
But  he  must  only  swear  on  state  occasions. 

At  this  moment,  too,  Mrs.  Neville  came  plunging  out 
of  the  house,  licking  an  envelope  as  she  ran. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting. 
I  haven't  told  the  old  gentleman  half  the  news  ;  in  fact, 
I've  only  taken  him  down  to  the  time  when  the  communi- 
cations were  cut,  and  I  dare  say  he  has  seen  all  that  in  the 
papers.  But  he  won't  understand  anything  about  it,  and 
if  he  does  he  will  guess  the  rest ;  besides,  for  all  I  know, 
he  may  be  dead  and  buried  by  now.  I  shall  have  to  owe 
you  for  the  stamp.  I  think  it's  threepence.  I'll  pay  you 
when  we  meet  again — that  is,  if  we  ever  do  meet  again. 
I'm  beginning  to  think  that  this  siege  will  go  on  for  all 
eternity.  There,  good-bye,  my  dear  !  God  bless  you  ! 
When  you  get  out  of  it,  mind  you  write  to  the  Th/n*,  in 
London,  you  know.  There,  don't  cry.  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  cry  if  I  were  going  to  get  out  of  this  place  ;"  for  at 


200  JESS. 

this  point  Jess  took  the  opportunity  of  Mrs.  Neville's  fer- 
vent embrace  to  burst  out  into  a  sob  or  two. 

In  another  minute  they  were  in  the  cart,  and  Mouti  was 
scrambling  up  behind. 

"  Don't  cry,  old  girl,"  said  John,  layingk  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder.  "  What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured." 

"  Yes,  John,"  she  answered,  and  dried  her  tears. 

At  the  headquarter  camp  John  went  in  and  explained 
the  circumstances  of  his  departure.  At  first  the  officer 
who  was  temporarily  in  command — the  commandant  hav- 
ing been  wounded  at  the  same  time  that  John  was — rather 
demurred  to  his  going,  especially  when  he  learned  that  he 
had  passed  his  word  not  to  carry  despatches.  Presently, 
however,  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  said  he  supposed 
that  it  was  all  right,  as  he  could  not  see  that  their  going 
could  do  the  garrison  any  harm  :  "  rather  the  reverse,  in 
fact,  because  you  can  tell  the  people  how  we  are  getting 
on  in  this  God-forsaken  hole.  I  only  wish  that  somebody 
would  give  me  a  pass,  that's  all  ;"  whereupon  John  shook 
hands  with  him  and  left,  to  find  an  eager  crowd  gathered 
outside. 

The  news  of  their  going  had  got  abroad,  and  everybody 
was  running  down  to  hear  the  truth  of  it.  Such  an  event 
as  a  departure  out  of  Pretoria  had  not  happened  for  a 
couple  of  months  and  more,  and  the  excitement  was  pro- 
portionate to  its  novelty. 

"  I  say,  Niel,  is  it  true  you  are  going  ?"  halloaed  out  a 
burly  farmer. 

"  How  the  deuce  did  you  get  a  pass  ?"  put  in  another 
man  with  a  face  like  a  weasel.  He  was  what  is  known  as 
a  "  Boer  vernuker  "  (literally,  a  "  Boer  cheater"),  that  is, 
a  travelling  trader  whose  business  it  is  to  beguile  the  sim- 
ple-minded Dutchman  by  selling  him  worthless  goods  at 
five  times  their  cost.  "  I  have  loads  of  friends  among 
the  Boers.  There  is  hardly  a  Boer  in  the  Transvaal  who 
does  not  know  me  " — ("  To  his  cost,"  put  in  a  bystander, 


JESS.  201 

with  a  grunt) — "and  yet  I  have  tried  all  I  know  " — ("And 
you  know  a  good  deal,"  said  the  same  rude  man) — "  and 
I  can't  get  a  pass." 

"  You  don't  suppose  those  poor  Boers  are  going  to  let 
you  out  when  once  they  have  got  you  in  ?"  went  on  the 
tormentor.  "  Why,  man.  it's  against  human  nature. 
You've  got  all  their  wool  :  now  do  you  think  they  want 
you  to  have  their  skin  too?" 

Whereupon  the  weasel-faced  individual  gave  a  howl  of 
wrath,  and  pretended  to  make  a  rush  at  the  author  of  these 
random  gibes,  waiting  half-way  for  somebody  to  stop  him 
and  prevent  a  breach  of  the  peace. 

"Oh,  Miss  Croft!"  cried  out  a  woman  in  the  crowd, 
who,  like  Jess,  had  been  trapped  in  Pretoria  while  on  a 
flying  visit,  "if  you  can  get  a  line  down  to  my  husband 
at  Maritzburg,  to  tell  him  that  I  am  well,  except  for  the 
rheumatism,  from  sleeping  on  the  wet  ground  ;  and  tell 
him  to  kiss  the  twins  for  me." 

"I  say,  Niel,  tell  those  Boers  that  we  will  give  them  a 

d d  good  hiding  yet,  when  Colley  relieves  us,"  sung 

out  a  jolly  young  Englishman  in  the  uniform  of  the  Pre- 
toria Carbineers.  He  little  knew  that  poor  Colley — kind- 
hearted  English  gentleman  that  he  was  —  was  sleeping 
peacefully  under  six  feet  of  ground  with  a  Boer  bullet 
through  his  brain. 

"  Now,  Captain  Niel,  if  you  are  ready,  we  must  trek," 
said  one  of  the  Boers  in  Dutch,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word  by  catching  the  near-wheeler  a  sharp  cut  with  his 
riding  sjambock  that  made  him  jump  nearly  out  of  the 
traces. 

Away  started  the  horses  with  a  plunge,  scattering  the 
crowd  to  the  right  and  left,  and,  amid  a  volley  of  fare- 
wells, they  were  off  upon  their  homeward  journey. 

For  more  than  an  hour  nothing  particular  happened. 
John  drove  on  at  a  fair  pace,  and  the  two  Boers  cantered 
along  behind.  At  the  end  of  this  time,  however,  just  as 


202  JESS. 

they  were  approaching  the  Red  House,  where  Frank 
Muller  had  obtained  the  pass  from  the  general  on  the 
previous  day,  one  of  the  Boers  rode  up  and  told  them, 
roughly  enough,  that  they  were  to  outspan  at  the  house, 
where  they  would  get  some  food.  As  it  was  past  one 
o'clock,  they  were  by  no  means  sorry  to  hear  this,  and, 
accordingly,  John  drew  up  the  cart  about  fifty  yards  from 
the  place,  and  they  proceeded  to  get  the  horses  out,  and, 
having  watched  them  roll  and  drink,  proceeded  to  the 
house. 

The  two  Boers,  who  had  also  off-saddled,  were  already 
sitting  on  the  veranda,  and  when  Jess  looked  inquiringly 
towards  them,  one  of  them  pointed  with  his  pipe  towards 
the  little  room.  Taking  the  hint,  they  entered,  and  found 
a  Hottentot  woman  just  setting  some  food  upon  the 
table. 

"Here  is  dinner;  let  us  eat  it,"  said  John;  "goodness 
knows  when  we  shall  get  any  more!"  and,  accordingly,  he 
sat  down. 

As  he  did  so  the  two  Boers  came  in,  and  one  of  them 
made  some  sneering  remark  that  made  the  other  look  at 
them  and  laugh  insultingly. 

John  flushed  up,  but  took  no  notice.  Indeed,  he  thought 
it  safest  not,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  much  like 
the  appearance  of  these  two  worthies.  One  of  them  was 
a  big,  smooth,  pasty-faced  man,  with  a  peculiarly  villain- 
ous expression  of  countenance  and  a  prominent  tooth  that 
projected  in  ghastly  isolation  over  his  lower  lip.  The 
other  was  a  small  man,  with  a  sardonic  smile  and  a  pro- 
fusion of  black  beard  and  whiskers  on  his  face,  and  long 
hair  hanging  on  to  his  shoulders.  Indeed,  when  he  smiled 
more  vigorously  than  usual  his  eyebrows  came  down  and 
his  whiskers  advanced  and  his  mustache  went  up,  till  there 
was  scarcely  any  face  left,  and  he  looked  more  like  a  great 
bearded  monkey  than  a  man.  This  man  was  a  Boer  of 
the  wildest  type  from  the  far  borders  of  Zoutpansberg, 


JESS.  208 

and  did  not  understand  a  word  -of  English.  Jess  nick- 
named him  the  Vilderbeeste,  from  his  likeness  to  that 
ferocious-looking  and  hairy  animal.  The  other  man,  on 
the  contrary,  understood  English  perfectly,  for  he  had 
passed  many  years  of  his  life  in  Natal,  having  left  that 
colony  on  account  of  some  little  indiscretion  about  thrash- 
ing Kaffirs  that  had  brought  him  into  collision  with  the 
penal  laws.  Him  Jess  named  the  Unicorn,  on  account  of 
his  one  gleaming  tusk. 

The  Unicorn  was  an  unusually  pious  man,  and  on  ar- 
riving at  the  table  he,  to  John's  astonishment,  gently  but 
firmly  grasped  the  knife  with  which  he  was  about  to  cut 
the  meat. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  said  John. 

The  Boer  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  No  wonder  you  Eng- 
lish are  an  accursed  race,  and  have  been  given  over  into 
our  hands  as  the  great  king  Agag  was  given  into  the  hands 
of  the  Israelites,  so  that  we  have  hewed  you  to  pieces. 
You  sit  down  to  meat  and  give  no  thanks  to  the  dear 
Lord,"  and  he  threw  back  his  head  and  sung  out  a  por- 
tentously long  Dutch  grace  through  his  nose.  Not  con- 
tent with  that,  he  set  to  work  to  translate  it  into  English, 
which  took  a  good  time  ;  nor  was  the  rendering  a  very 
finished  one  in  the  result. 

The  Vilderbeeste  grinned  sardonically  and  put  in  a  pious 
"  Amen,"  and  then  at  last  they  were  allowed  to  proceed 
with  their  dinner,  which,  on  the  whole,  was  not  a  pleasant 
one.  But  then  they  could  not  expect  much  pleasxire  under 
the  circumstances,  so  they  just  ate  their  food  and  made  the 
best  of  a  bad  job.  After  all,  it  might  have  been  worse  ; 
they  might  have  had  no  dinner  to  eat. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON    THE    EOAD. 

THEY  had  just  finished  their  meal,  and  were  about  to 
leave  the  table,  when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  who 
should  appear  at  it  but  Frank  Muller  himself  !  There 
was  no  mistake  about  him  ;  there  he  stood,  stroking  his 
long  golden  beard,  as  big,  as  handsome,  and,  to  Jess's 
mind,  as  evil-looking  as  ever.  The  cold  eyes  fell  upon 
John  with  a  glance  of  recognition,  and  then  something 
like  a  smile  began  to  play  round  the  corners  of  the  fine- 
cut,  cruel  mouth.  Suddenly,  however,  his  gaze  lit  upon 
the  two  Boers,  one  of  whom  was  picking  his  teeth  with  a 
steel  fork  and  the  other  lighting  his  pipe  within  a  few 
inches  of  Jess's  head,  and  instantly  his  face  grew  stern 
and  angry. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  two  men  ?"  he  said  ;  "  that  you 
were  not  to  eat  with  the  prisoners"  (this  word  struck 
awkwardly  on  Jess's  ear).  "I  told  you  that  they  were  to 
be  treated  with  all  respect,  and  here  I  find  you  sprawling 
over  the  table  and  smoking  in  their  faces.  Be  off  with 
you  !" 

The  smooth-faced  man  with  the  tusk  rose  at  once  with 
a  sigh,  put  down  the  steel  fork  with  which  he  had  been 
operating,  and  departed,  recognizing  that  Meinheer  Muller 
was  not  a  commanding  officer  to  be  trifled  with;  but  his 
companion,  the  Vilderbeeste,  demurred.  "  What,"  he 
said,  tossing  his  head  so  as  to  throw  the  long  black  hair 
out  of  his  eyes,  "  am  I  not  fit  to  sit  at  meat  with  a  couple 
of  accursed  English — a  rooibaatje  and  a  woman  ?  If  I 


•T  E  S  8.  206 

had  ray  way  he  should  clean  my  boots  and  she  should  cut 
up  my  tobacco  ;"  and  he  grinned  at  the  notion  till  eye- 
brows, whiskers,  and  mustache  all  nearly  met  round  his 
nose,  making  him  look  for  all  the  world  like  a  hairy-faced 
baboon. 

Frank  Muller  made  no  answer  in  words.  He  simply 
took  one  step  forward,  pounced  upon  his  insubordinate 
follower,  and  with  a  single  swing  of  his  athletic  frame 
sent  him  flying  headlong  through  the  door,  so  that  the  free 
and  independent  burgher  lit  upon  his  head  in  the  passage, 
smashing  his  pipe  and  considerably  damaging  his  best 
feature — his  nose.  "  There,"  said  Muller,  shutting  the 
door  after  him,  "  that  is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  a  fel- 
low like  that.  And  now  let  me  bid  you  good-day,  Miss 
Jess,"  and  he  extended  his  hand,  which  Jess  took,  rather 
coldly  it  must  be  owned. 

"It  has  given  me  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  do  you 
this  little  service,"  he  added,  politely.  "  I  had  considera- 
ble difficulty  in  getting  the  pass  from  the  general — indeed, 
I  was  obliged  to  urge  my  personal  services  before  he  would 
give  it  to  me.  But,  never  mind  that,  I  did  get  it,  as  you 
know,  and  it  will  be  my  care  to  escort  you  safely  to  Mooi- 
fontein." 

Jess  bowed,  and  Muller  turned  to  John,  who  had  risen 
from  his  chair  and  was  standing  some  two  paces  from  him, 
and  addressed  him.  "  Captain  Niel,"  he  said,  "  you  and  I 
have  had  some  differences  in  the  past.  I  hope  that  the 
service  I  am  doing  you  will  prove  that  I,  for  one,  bear  no 
malice.  I  will  go  further.  As  I  told  you  before,  I  was  to 
blame  in  that  affair  in  the  inn  yard  at  Wakkerstroom.  Let 
us  shake  hands  and  end  what  we  cannot  mend,"  and  he 
stepped  forward  and  extended  his  hand. 

Jess  turned  to  see  what  would  happen.  She  knew  the 
whole  story,  and  hoped  he  would  not  take  the  man's 
hand  ;  then,  remembering  their  position,  she  hoped  he 
would. 


200  JESS. 

John  turned  color  a  little,  and  then  deliberately  drew 
himself  up  and  put  his  hand  behind  his  back. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Muller,"  he  said,  "  but  even  in 
our  present  position  I  cannot  shake  hands  with  you  ;  you 
well  know  why." 

Jess  saw  a  flush  of  the  furious  passion  which  was  his 
weak  point  spread  itself  over  the  Boer's  face. 

"I  do  not  know,  Captain  Niel.  Be  so  good  as  to  ex- 
plain." 

"Very  well,  I  will,"  said  John,  calmly.  "  You  tried  to 
assassinate  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  thundered  Muller. 

"  What  I  say.  You  shot  at  me  twice  under  pretence  of 
firing  at  a  buck.  Look  here  !" — and  he  took  up  his  soft 
black  hat,  which  he  still  had — "  here  is  the  mark  of  one  of 
your  bullets  !  I  did  not  know  about  it  then  ;  I  do  now, 
and  I  decline  to  shake  hands  with  you." 

By  this  time  Muller's  fury  had  got  the  better  of  him. 
"You  shall  answer  for  that,  you  English  liar  !"  he  said,  at 
the  same  time  clapping  his  hand  to  his  belt,  in  which  his 
hunting-knife  was  placed.  Thus  for  a  few  seconds  they 
stood  face  to  face.  John  never  flinched  or  moved.  There 
he  stood,  quiet  and  strong  as  some  old  stubby  tree,  his 
plain,  honest  face  and  watchful  eye  affording  a  strange  con- 
trast to  the  beautiful  but  demoniacal  countenance  of  the 
great  Dutchman.  Presently  he  spoke  in  measured  tones. 

"  I  have  proved  myself  a  better  man  than  yourself  once, 
Frank  Muller,  and  if  necessary  I  will  again,  notwithstand- 
ing that  knife  of  yours.  But,  in  the  meantime,  I  wish  to 
remind  you  that  I  have  a  pass  signed  by  your  own  general 
guaranteeing  our  safety.  And  now,  Mr.  Muller,"  with  a 
flash  of  the  blue  eyes,  "I  am  ready."  The  Dutchman 
drew  the  knife  and  then  replaced  it  in  its  sheath.  For  a 
moment  he  was  minded  to  end  the  matter'then  and  there, 
but  suddenly  remembered,  even  in  his  rage,  that  there 
a  witness, 


JESS.  207 

"A  pass  from  the  general  !"  he  said,  forgetting  his  cau- 
tion in  his  fury;  "much  good  a  pass  from  the  general  is 
likely  to  be  to  you.  You  are  in  my  power,  man  !  If  I 
choose  to  close  my  hand  I  can  crush  you.  But  there — 
there,"  he  added,  checking  himself,  "  perhaps  I  ought  to 
make  allowances.  You  are  one  of  a  defeated  people,  and 
no  doubt  are  sore,  and  say  what  you  do  not  mean.  Any- 
how, there  is  an  end  of  it,  especially  in  the  presence  of 
a  lady.  Some  day  we  may  be  able  to  settle  our  trouble 
like  men,  Captain  Niel ;  till  then,  with  your  permission,  we 
will  let  it  drop." 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Muller,"  said  John,  "only  you  must  not 
ask  me  to  shake  hands  with  you." 

"  Very  good,  Captain  Niel  ;  and  now,  if  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  tell  the  boy  to  get  your  horses  in  ;  we  must  be 
getting  on  if  we  are  to  reach  Heidelberg  to-night."  And 
he  bowed  himself  out,  feeling  that  his  temper  had  once 
more  endangered  the  success  of  his  plans.  "Curse  the 
man  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  he  is  what  those  English  call 
a  gentleman.  It  was  brave  of  him  to  refuse  to  take  my 
hand  when  he  is  in  my  power." 

"John,"  said  Jess,  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed,  "  I  am 
afraid  of  that  man.  If  I  had  understood  that  he  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  pass  I  would  not  have  taken  it.  I 
thought  that  the  wrriting  was  familiar  to  me.  Oh,  dear!  I 
wish  we  had  stopped  at  Pretoria." 

"What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,"  said  John, 
again.  "  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
and  get  on  as  we  can.  You  will  be  all  right  anyhow,  but 
he  hates  me  like  poison.  I  suppose  that  it  is  on  account 
of  Bessie." 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Jess  ;  "  he  is  madly  in  love  with 
Bessie,  or  was." 

"  It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  man  like  that  can  be  in 
love,"  remarked  John,  as  he  lit  his  pipe,  "  but  it  only  shows 
what  queer  mixtures  people  are.  I  say,  Jess,  if  this  fellow 


208  JESS. 

X 

hates  me  so,  what  made  him  give  me  the  pass,  eh  ?  What's 
his  game  ?" 

Jess  shook  her  head  as  she  answered, "  I  don't  know, 
John  ;  I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  suppose  he  can't  mean  to  murder  me  ;  he  did  try  it 
on  once,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  no,  John,"  she  answered,  with  a  sort  of  cry,  "  not 
that." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  would  matter  much," he 
said,  with  an  approach  to  cheerfulness  which  was  rather  a 
failure.  "  It  would  save  one  a  deal  of  worry,  and  only  an- 
ticipate things  a  bit.  But  there,  I  frightened  you,  and  I 
dare  say  that  he  is,  for  the  present  at  any  rate,  an  honest 
man,  and  has  no  intentions  on  my  person.  Look  !  there  is 
Mouti  calling  us.  I  wonder  if  those  brutes  have  given 
him  anything  to  eat !  We'll  collar  the  rest  of  this  leg  of 
mutton  on  chance.  At  any  rate,  Frank  Muller  sha'n't 
starve  me  to  death,"  and  with  a  cheerful  laugh  he  left  the 
room. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  their  road  again.  As 
they  started  Frank  Muller  came  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
informed  them  that  he  would  probably  join  them  on  the 
morrow  below  Heidelberg,  in  which  town  they  would  find 
every  preparation  to  enable  them  to  spend  the  night  com- 
fortably. If  he  did  not  join  them  it  would  be  because  he 
was  detained  on  duty.  In  that  case  the  two  men  had  his 
orders  to  escort  them  safely  to  Mooifontein,  and,  he  added, 
significantly,  "  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  be  troubled 
with  any  further  impoliteness." 

In  another  moment  he  had  galloped  off  on  his  great 
black  horse,  leaving  the  pair  considerably  mystified  and 
not  a  little  relieved. 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  at  any  rate  that  does  not  look  like 
foul  play,  unless,  indeed,  he  has  gone  on  to  prepare  a  warm 
reception  for  us." 

Jess  shrugged  her  shoulders,  she  could  not  make  it  out ; 


JESS.  209 

and  then  they  settled  themselves  down  to  their  long  and 
lonely  drive.  They  had  forty  odd  miles  to  cover,  but  the 
guides,  or  rather  the  guard,  would  only  consent  to  their 
outspanning  once,  which  they  did  on  the  open  veldt  a  lit- 
tle before  sunset.  At  sundown  they  inspanned  again,  and 
started  across  the  darkening  veldt.  The  road  was  in  a 
shocking  state,  and  until  the  moon  got  up,  which  it  did 
about  nine  o'clock,  the  journey  was  both  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous. After  that  things  were  a  little  better  ;  and  at  last, 
about  eleven  o'clock,  they  got  into  Heidelberg.  The  town 
seemed  almost  deserted.  Evidently  the  great  body  of  the 
Boers  were  at  the  front,  and  had  only  left  a  guard  at  their 
seat  of  government. 

"  Where  are  we  to  outspan  ?"  asked  John  of  the  Uni- 
corn, who  was  jogging  on  alongside,  apparently  half 
asleep. 

"  At  the  hotel,"  was  the  short  reply,  and  thither  they 
went ;  and  thankful  enough  they  were  to  get  there,  and 
to  find,  from  the  lights  in  the  windows,  that  the  people 
were  still  up. 

Jess  had  been  asleep  for  the  last  couple  of  hours,  not- 
withstanding the  awful  jolting  of  the  cart.  Her  arm  was 
hooked  round  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  her  head  rest- 
ed against  John's  greatcoat,  which  he  had  fixed  up  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  a  pillow.  "  Where  are  we  ?"  she 
asked,  waking  up  with  a  start  as  the  cart  stopped.  "I 
have  had  such  a  bad  dream  !  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
travelling  through  life,  and  that  suddenly  everything 
stopped,  and  I  was  dead." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  laughed  John  ;  "  the  road  for 
the  last  ten  miles  has  been  as  rough  as  anybody's  life. 
We  are  at  the  hotel.  Here  come  the  boys  to  take  the 
horses,"  and  he  clambered  stiffly  out  of  the  cart  and  helped 
or  rather  lifted  her  down,  for  she  was  almost  too  cramped 
to  move. 

Standing  at  the  inn  door,  holding  a  light  above  her  head, 
14 


210  JESS. 

they  found  a  pleasant  -  looking  Englishwoman,  who  wel- 
comed them  heartily. 

"  Frank  Muller  was  here  three  hours  ago,  and  told  me 
to  expect  you,"  she  said  ;  "  and  very  glad  I  am  to  see  an 
English  face  again,  I  can  tell  you.  My  name  is  Gooch. 
Tell  me,  is  my  husband  all  right  in  Pretoria  ?  He  went 
up  there  with  his  wagon  just  before  the  siege  began,  and 
I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  him  since." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  he  is  all  right.  He  was  slightly 
wounded  in  the  shoulder  a  month  ago,  but  he  is  quite  re- 
covered." 

"  Oh,  thank  God  !"  said  the  poor  woman,  beginning  to 
cry  ;  "those  devils  told  me  that  he  was  dead — >to  torment 
me,  I  suppose.  Come  in,  miss  ;  there  is  some  hot  supper 
ready  when  you  have  washed  your  hands.  The  boys  will 
see  to  the  horses." 

Accordingly  they  entered,  and  were  made  as  happy  as  a 
good  supper,  a  hearty  welcome,  and  comfortable  beds 
could  make  people  in  their  condition. 

In  the  early  morning  one  of  their  estimable  escort  sent 
in  a  message  to  say  that  they  were  not  to  start  before  half- 
past  ten,  as  their  horses  required  more  rest,  so  they  got 
several  hours  more  in  bed  than  they  had  expected,  and 
anybody  who  has  ever  made  a  journey  in  a  post-cart  in 
South  Africa  can  understand  what  a  blessing  that  was. 
At  nine  they  had  breakfast,  and  as  the  clock  struck  half- 
past  ten  Mouti  brought  the  cart  round,  and  with  it  came 
the  two  Boers. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gooch,"  said  John,  "  what  do  we  owe 
you  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Captain  Niel,  nothing.  If  you  only  knew 
what  a  weight  you  have  taken  off  my  mind  !  Besides, 
we  are  quite  ruined  ;  the  Boers  have  taken  all  my  hus- 
band's cattle  and  horses,  and  until  last  week  six  of  them 
were  quartered  on  me  without  paying  a  farthing,  so  it 
makes  no  odds  to  me." 


JESS.  211 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Gooch,"  said  John,  cheerfully,  "  the 
government  will  compensate  you  when  this  business  is 
over,  no  doubt." 

"Mrs.  Gooch  shook  her  head  prophetically.  "Never"  a 
farthing  do  I  expect  to  see,"  she  said.  "  If  only  I  can  get 
my  husband  back,  and  we  can  escape  out  of  this  wicked 
place  with  our  lives,  I  shall  be  thankful.  And  look  here, 
Captain  Niel,  I  have  put  up  a  basket  full  of  food — bread, 
meat,  and  hard  boiled  eggs,  and  a  bottle  of  three -star 
brandy.  They  may  be  useful  to  you  and  the  young  lady 
before  you  get  home.  I  don't  know  where  you  will  sleep 
to-night,  for  the  English  are  still  holding  Standerton,  so 
you  won't  be  able  to  stop  there,  and  you  can't  get  right 
through.  No,  don't  thank  me,  I  could  not  do  less.  Good- 
bye— good-bye,  miss ;  I  hope  you  will  get  through  all  right. 
You  had  better  look  out  though.  Those  two  men  you 
have  got  with  you  are  a  very  bad  lot.  I  heard  say  that 
that  fat-faced  man  with  the  tooth  shot  two  wounded  men 
through  the  head  after  the  fight  at  Bronker's  Spruit,  and 
I  know  no  good  of  the  other.  They  were  laughing  and 
talking  together  about  you  in  the  kitchen  this  morning  ; 
one  of  my  boys  overheard  them,  and  the  man  with  the 
long  hair  said  that,  at  any  rate,  they  would  not  be  troubled 
with  you  after  to-night.  I  don't  know  what  he  meant ; 
perhaps  they  are  going  to  change  the  escort ;  but  I  thought 
that  I  had  better  tell  you." 

John  looked  grave,  and  his  suspicions  re-arose,  but  at 
that  moment  one  of  the  men  in  question  rode  up  and  told 
him  that  he  must  start  at  once,  and  so  off  they  went. 

The  second  day's  journey  was  in  many  respects  a  coun- 
terpart of  the  first.  The  road  was  utterly  deserted,  and 
they  saw  neither  Boer,  Englishman,  nor  Kaffir  upon  it ; 
nothing,  indeed,  except  a  few  herds  of  game  grazing  on 
the  ridges.  About  two  o'clock,  however,  just  as  they  had 
started  on  after  a  short  outspan,  a  little  incident  occurred. 
Suddenly  the  Vilderbeeste's  horse  put  his  foot  into  an  ant- 


212  JESS. 

bear  hole  and  fell  heavily,  throwing  his  rider  on  to  his 
head.  He  was  up  in  a  minute,  but  his  forehead  had  struck 
against  the  jawbone  of  a  dead  buck,  and  the  blood  was 
pouring  from  it  all  down  his  hairy  face.  His  companion 
laughed  brutally  at  the  sight,  for  there  are  some  natures 
in  the  world  to  which  the  sight  of  pain  is  irresistibly  com- 
ical, but  the  injured  man  cursed  aloud,  trying  to  stanch 
the  flow  with  the  lappet  of  his  coat. 

"  Waacht  een  beeche  "  (wait  a  bit),  said  Jess,  "there  is 
some  water  in  that  pool;"  and  without  further  ado  she 
got  out  of  the  trap  and  led  the  man,  who  was  half-blinded 
with  blood,  to  the  spring.  Here  she  made  him  kneel  down 
and  bathe  the  wound,  which  was  not  a  very  deep  one, 
till  it  stopped  bleeding,  and  then,  having  first  placed  a  pad 
of  cotton-wool,  some  of  which  she  happened  to  have  in  the 
cart,  upon  it,  bound  her  handkerchief  tightly  round  his 
head.  The  man,  brute  as  he  was,  appeared  to  be  much 
touched  at  her  kindness. 

"Almighty!"  he  said,  "but  you  have  a  kind  heart  and 
soft  fingers  ;  my  own  wife  could  not  have  done  it  better  ; 
it  is  a  pity  that  you  are  a  d d  Englishwoman." 

Jess  climbed  back  into  the  cart,  making  no  reply,  and 
they  started  on,  the  Vilderbeeste  looking  more  savage  and 
unhuman  than  ever  with  the  discolored  handkerchief 
round  his  head,  and  his  dense  beard  and  hair  matted  with 
the  blood  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  wash  out  of 
them. 

After  this  nothing  further  occurred  till,  by  the  orders 
of  their  escort,  they  outspanned,  an  hour  or  so  before  sun- 
set, at  a  spot  in  the  veldt  where  a  faint  track  forked  out 
of  the  Standerton  road. 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

IN  THE  DRIFT  OF  THE  VAAL. 

THE  day  had  been  intensely  and  overpoweringly  hot, 
and  our  travellers  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  cart  positively 
gasping.  During  the  afternoon  there  had  been  a  little 
breeze,  but  this  had  now  died  away,  and  the  stifling  air 
felt  as  thick  as  though  they  were  breathing  cream.  Even 
the  two  Boers  seemed  to  feel  the  heat,  for  they  were  both 
outstretched  on  the  grass  a  few  paces  to  the  left,  to  all 
appearances  fast  asleep.  As  for  the  horses,  they  were 
thoroughly  done  up  —  too  much  so  to  eat  —  and  hobbled 
along  as  well  as  their  knee-halters  would  allow,  daintily 
picking  a  mouthful  here  and  a  mouthful  there.  The  only 
person  who  did  not  seem  to  mind  was  the  Zulu  Mouti, 
who  sat  on  an  antheap  near  the  horses,  in  the  full  glare  of 
the  setting  sun,  and  comfortably  droned  out  a  little  song 
of  his  own  invention,  for  Zulus  are  as  great  for  improvis- 
ing as  the  Italians. 

"  Have  another  egg,  Jess  ?"  said  John.  "  It  will  do  you 
good." 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  the  last  one  stuck  in  my  throat.  It  is 
impossible  to  eat  in  this  heat." 

"You  had  better.  Goodness  knows  when  and  where 
we  shall  stop  again.  I  can  get  nothing  out  of  our  delight- 
ful escort ;  either  they  don't  know  or  they  won't  say." 

"I  can't,  John.  There  is  a  thunderstorm  coming  up;  I 
can  feel  it  in  my  head,  and  I  can  never  eat  before  a  thun- 
derstorm —  and  when  I  am  tired,"  she  added,  by  an  after- 
thought. 

After  that  the  conversation  flagged  for  a  while. 


214  JESS. 

"  John,"  said  Jess,  at  last,  "  where  do  you  suppose  we 
are  going  to  camp  to-night  ?  If  we  follow  the  main  road 
we  shall  reach  Standerton  in  an  hour." 

"I  don't  suppose  that  they  will  go  near  Standerton,"  he 
said.  "  I  suppose  that  we  shall  cross  the  Vaal  by  another 
drift  and  have  to  'veldt'  it." 

Just  then  the  two  Boers  woke  up  and  began  to  talk 
earnestly  together,  as  though  they  were  debating  some- 
thing hotly. 

Slowly  the  huge  red  ball  of  the  sun  sank  towards  the 
horizon,  steeping  the  earth  and  sky  in  blood.  About  a 
hundred  yards  from  where  they  sat  the  little  bridle  -  path 
that  branched  from  the  main  road  crossed  the  crest  of  one 
of  the  great  land-waves  that  rolled  away  in  every  direction 
towards  the  far  horizon.  John  watched  the  sun  sinking 
behind  it  till  something  called  away  his  attention  for  a 
minute.  When  he  looked  up  again  there  was  a  figure  on 
horseback,  standing  quite  still,  upon  the  crest  of  the  ridge 
in  the  full  glow  of  the  now  disappearing  sun.  It  was 
Frank  Muller.  John  recognized  him  in  a  moment.  His 
horse  was  standing  sideways,  so  that  even  at  that  distance 
every  line  of  his  features,  and  even  the  trigger  -  guard  of 
the  rifle  that  rested  on  his  knee,  showed  distinctly  against 
the  background  of  smoky  red.  Xor  was  that  all.  Both 
he  and  his  horse  had  the  appearance  of  being  absolutely 
on  fire.  The  effect  produced  was  so  weird  and  extraordi- 
nary that  John  called  his  companion's  attention  to  it.  She 
looked,  and  shuddered  involuntarily. 

"  He  looks  like  a  devil  in  hell,"  she  said  ;  "  the  fire  seems 
to  be  running  all  up  and  down  him." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  he  certainly  is  a  devil,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  he  has  not  yet  reached  his  destination. 
Here  he  comes,  like  a  whirlwind." 

In  another  twenty  seconds  Muller  had  reined  the  great 
black  horse  on  to  his  haunches  alongside  of  them,  and  was 
smiling  sweetly  and  taking  off  his  hat. 


JESS.  215 

"  You  see  I  have  managed  to  keep  my  word,"  he  said. 
"  I  can  tell  you  that  I  had  great  difficulty  in  doing  so  ;  in- 
deed, I  was  nearly  obliged  to  give  the  thing  up  at  the  last 
moment.  However,  here  I  am." 

"  Where  are  we  to  outspan  to-night  ?"  asked  Jess.  "  At 
Standerton  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  afraid  that  that  is  more  than  I 
can  manage  for  you,  unless  you  can  persuade  the  English 
officer  there  to  surrender.  What  I  have  arranged  is,  that 
we  should  cross  the  Vaal  at  a  drift  I  know  about  two  hours 
(twelve  miles)  from  here,  and  outspan  at  a  farm  on  the 
other  side.  Do  not  trouble,  I  assure  you  you  shall  both 
sleep  well  to-night,"  and  he  smiled  a  somewhat  terrifying 
smile,  Jess  thought. 

"But  how  about  this  drift,  Mr.  Muller?"  said  John. 
"  Is  it  safe  ?  I  should  have  thought  that  the  Vaal  would 
have  been  in  flood  after  all  the  rain  that  we  have  had." 

"The  drift  is  perfectly  safe,  Captain  Niel.  I  crossed 
it  myself  about  two  hours  ago.  I  know  you  have  a  bad 
opinion  of  me,  but  I  suppose  you  do  not  think  that  I 
should  guide  you  to  an  unsafe  drift  ?"  and  with  another 
bow  he  rode  on  to  speak  to  the  two  Boers,  saying,  as  he 
went,  "  Will  you  tell  the  Kaffir  to  put  the  horses  in  ?" 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  John  rose  and  went  off 
towards  Mouti,  to  help  him  to  drive  up  the  four  grays, 
who  were  now  standing  limply  together,  biting  at  the  flies, 
that,  before  a  storm,  sting  more  sharply  than  at  any  other 
time.  The  two  horses  belonging  to  the  escort  were  some 
fifty  paces  to  the  left.  It  was  as  though  they  appreciated 
the  position  of  affairs,  and  declined  to  mix  with  the  ani- 
mals of  the  discredited  Englishman. 

The  two  Boers  rose  as  Muller  came  and  walked  off  tow- 
ards their  horses,  Muller  slowly  following  them.  As  they 
came  the  horses  hobbled  away  another  thirty  yards  or  so, 
and  then  lifted  up  their  heads,  and,  as  a  consequence,  their 
fore-legs,  to  which  the  heads  were  tied,  and  stood  looking 


216  JESS. 

defiantly  at  their  captors,  for  all  the  world  as  though  they 
were  trying  to  make  up  their  minds  whether  or  not  to  shake 
hands  with  them. 

Frank  Muller  was  alongside  the  two  men  now,  and  they 
were  alongside  the  horses. 

"  Listen  !"  he  said,  sternly. 

The  men  looked  up. 

"  Go  on  loosening  the  reims,  and  listen." 

They  obeyed,  and  began  to  slowly  fumble  at  the  knee- 
halters. 

"  You  understand  what  our  orders  are.  Repeat  them — 
you !" 

The  man  with  the  tooth,  who  was  addressed,  still  hand- 
ling the  reim,  began  as  follows  :  "  To  take  the  two  pris- 
oners to  the  Vaal,  to  force  them  into  the  water  where 
there  is  no  drift,  at  night,  so  that  they  drown  ;  if  they  do 
not  drown,  to  shoot  them." 

"  Those  are  the  orders,"  said  the  Vilderbeeste,  grinning. 

"  You  understand  them  ?" 

"  We  understand,  meinheer  ;  but,  forgive  us,  the  matter 
is  a  big  one.  You  gave  the  orders — we  wish  to  see  the 
authority." 

"  Yah,  yah,"  said  the  other,  "  show  us  the  authority. 
These  are  two  harmless  people  enough.  Show  us  the  au- 
thority for  killing  them.  People  must  not  be  killed  so, 
even  if  they  are  English  folk,  without  proper  authority, 
especially  when  one  is  a  pretty  girl  who  would  do  for  a 
man's  wife." 

Frank  Muller  set  his  teeth.  "  Nice  fellows  you  are  to 
have  under  one  !"  he  said.  "  I  am  your  officer  ;  what  oth- 
er authority  do  you  want  ?  But  I  thought  of  this.  See 
here  !"  and  he  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  "Here, you 
— read  it !  Careful  now  —  do  not  let  them  see  from  the 
wagon." 

The  big,  flabby -faced  man  took  the  paper  and,  still 
bending  down  over  the  horse's  knees,  read  aloud  : 


JESS.  217 

"The  two  prisoners  and  their  servant  (an  Englishman, 
an  English  girl,  and  a  Zulu  Kaffir)  to  be  executed  in  pur- 
suance of  our  decree,  as  your  commanding  officer  shall  or- 
der, as  enemies  of  the  republic.  For  so  doing  this  shall  be 
your  warrant." 

"  You  see  the  signature,"  said  Muller,  "  and  you  do  not 
dispute  it  ?" 

"  Yah,  we  see  it,  and  we  do  not  dispute  it." 

"  Good.     Give  me  back  the  warrant:" 

The  man  with  the  tooth  was  about  to  do  so  when  his 
companion  interposed. 

"  No,"  lie  said,  "  the  warrant  must  remain  with  us.  I 
do  not  like  the  job.  If  it  were  only  the  man  and  the  Kaffir 
now — but  the  girl,  the  girl !  If  we  give  you  back  the 
warrant,  what  shall  we  have  to  show  for  the  deed  of  blood? 
The  warrant  must  remain  with  us." 

"  Yah,  yah,  he  is  right,"  said  the  unicorn  ;  "  the  warrant 
must  remain  with  us.  Put  it  in  your  pocket,  Jan." 

"  Curse  you,  give  it  me  !"  said  Muller,  between  his 
teeth. 

"  No,  Frank  Muller,  no  !"  answered  the  Vilderbeeste, 
patting  his  pocket,  while  the  two  or  three  square  inches  of 
skin  round  his  nose  wrinkled  up  in  a  hairy  grin  that,  owing 
to  the  cut  on  his  head,  was  even  more  curious  than  usual ; 
"  if  you  wish  to  have  the  warrant  you  shall  have  it,  but 
then  we  shall  up-saddle  and  go,  and  you  can  do  your  mur- 
dering yourself.  There,  there  !  take  your  choice  ;  we  shall 
be  glad  enough  to  get  home,  for  we  do  not  like  the  job. 
If  I  go  out  shooting  I  like  to  shoot  buck  or  Kaffir,  not 
white  people." 

Frank  Muller  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  he  laughed  a 
little.  "  You  are  funny  people,  you  home-bred  Boers,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  perhaps  you  are  right.  After  all,  what  does  it 
matter  who  has  the  wan-ant,  provided  the  thing  is  «well 
done  ?  Mind  there  is  no  bungling,  that  is  all." 

"Yah,  yah,"  said  the  fat-faced  man,  "you  can  trust  us 


218  JESS. 

for  that.  It  won't  be  the  first  that  we  have  toppled  over. 
If  I  have  my  warrant  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  go 
on  shooting  Englishmen  all  night,  one  down,  the  other 
come  on.  I  know  no  prettier  sight  than  an  Englishman 
toppling  over." 

"Stop  that  talk  and  saddle  up,  the  cart  is  waiting. 
You  fools  can  never  understand  the  difference  between 
killing  when  it  is  necessary  to  kill  and  killing  for  killing's 
sake.  These  people  must  die  because  they  have  betrayed 
the  land." 

"  Yah,  yah,"  said  the  Vilderbeeste,  "  betrayed  the  land  ; 
we  have  heard  that  before.  Those  who  betray  the  land 
must  manure  it ;  that  is  a  good  rule  ;"  and  he  laughed  and 
passed  on. 

Frank  Muller  watched  his  retreating  form  with  a  smile 
of  peculiar  malignity  on  his  handsome  face.  "Ah,  my 
friend,"  he  said  to  himself  in  Dutch,  "you  and  that  war- 
rant will  part  company  before  you  are  many  hours  older. 
Why,  it  would  be  enough  to  hang  me,  even  in  this  happy 

land  of  patriots.  Old would  not  forgive  even  me  for 

taking  that  little  liberty  with  his  name.  Dear  me,  what  a 
lot  of  trouble  one  has  to  take  to  be  rid  of  a  single  enemy  ! 
Well,  it  must  be  done,  and  Bessie  is  well  worth  it ;  but  if 
it  had  not  been  for  this  war  I  could  never  have  managed 
it.  Ah  !  I  did  well  to  give  my  voice  for  war.  I  am  sorry 
for  the  girl  Jess,  but  it  must  be  ;  there  must  be  no  living 
witness  left.  Ah !  we  are  going  to  have  a  storm.  So 
much  the  better.  Such  deeds  are  best  done  in  a  storm." 

Muller  was  right;  the  storm  was  coming  up  fast,  throw- 
ing a  veil  of  inky  cloud  across  the  star-spangled  sky.  In 
South  Africa  there  is  but  little  twilight,  and  the  darkness 
follows  hard  upon  the  heels  of  the  day.  No  sooner  had 
the  great  angry  ball  of  the  sun  finally  disappeared  than 
the  night  swept  with  all  her  stars  across  the  sky.  And 
now  after  her  came  the  great  storm,  covering  up  her  beau- 
ty with  his  blackness.  The  air  was  stiflingly  hot.  Above 


JESS.  219 

was  a  starry  space;  to  the  east  the  angry  bosom  of  the 
storm,  in  which  the  lightnings  were  already  playing  with 
an  incessant  flickering  movement,  and  to  the  west  a  deep 
red  glow,  reflected  from  the  sunken  sun,  yet  lingered  on 
the  horizon. 

On  toiled  the  horses  through  the  gathering  gloom.  For- 
tunately the  road  was  fairly  level  and  free  from  mudholes, 
and  Frank  Muller  rode  just  ahead  to  show  the  way,  his 
strong,  manly  form  standing  out  clear  against  the  depart- 
ing western  glow.  Silent  was  the  earth — silent  as  death. 
No  bird  or  beast,  no  blade  of  grass  or  breath  of  air  stirred 
upon  its  surface.  The  only  sign  of  life  was  the  continual 
flickering  of  those  awful  tongues  of  light  as  they  licked 
the  lips  of  the  storm.  On  for  mile  after  mile,  on  through 
the  desolation!  They  could  not  be  far  from  the  river 
now,  and  could  catch  the  distant  growling  of  the  thunder, 
echoing  solemnly  down  it. 

It  was  an  awful  night.  Great  pillars  of  mud-colored 
cloud  came  creeping  across  the  surface  of  the  veldt  tow- 
ards them,  seemingly  blown  along  without  a  wind.  And 
now,  too,  a  ghastly-looking  ringed  moon  arose  and  threw 
a  weird,  distorted  light  upon  the  blackness  that  seemed  to 
shudder  in  her  rays,  as  though  with  a  prescience  of  the 
advancing  terror.  On  crept  the  mud-colored  columns,  and 
on  above  them,  and  resting  on  them,  came  the  muttering 
storm.  The  cart  was  quite  close  to  the  river  now,  and 
they  could  plainly  hear  its  murmur.  To  their  left  was  a 
koppie,  covered  with  white,  slablike  stones,  on  which  the 
sickly  moonbeams  danced. 

"  Look,  John,  look  !"  cried  Jess,  with  an  hysterical 
laugh;  "it  looks  like  a  huge  graveyard,  and  the  dark 
shadows  between  are  the  ghosts  of  the  buried." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  John,  sternly;  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
talking  such  rubbish  ?" 

He  felt  that  she  was  a  little  off  her  balance,  and,  what 
is  more,  he  was  getting  rather  off  his  own,  and  therefore 


220  JESS. 

was  naturally  the  angrier  with  her,  and  the  more  deter- 
mined to  be  perfectly  matter-of-fact. 

Jess  made  no  answer,  but  she  was  frightened;  she  could 
not  tell  why.  The  whole  thing  resembled  some  awful 
dream,  or  one  of  Dore's  pictures  come  to  life.  No  doubt, 
also,  the  near  presence  of  the  storm  exercised  an  effect 
upon  her  nerves.  Even  the  wearied  horses  snorted  and 
shook  themselves  uneasily. 

They  crept  over  the  ridge  of  a  wave  of  land,  and  the 
wheels  rolled  softly  on  the  grass. 

"  Why,  we  are  off  the  road !"  shouted  John  to  Muller, 
who  was  still  guiding  them,  fifteen  or  twenty  paces  ahead. 

"  All  right!  all  right!  it  is  a  short  cut  to  the  ford  !"  he 
called  in  answer,  and  his  voice  rang  strange  and  hollow 
through  the  great  depths  of  the  silence. 

Below  them,  a  hundred  yards  away,  the  light,  such  as  it 
was,  gleamed  faintly  upon  the  wide  surface  of  the  river. 
Another  five  minutes  and  they  were  on  its  shore,  but  in 
the  gathering  gloom  they  could  not  make  out  the  opposite 
bank.  x* 

"  Turn  to  the  left!"  shouted  Muller;  "the  ford  is  a  few 
yards  up.  It  is  too  deep  here  for  the  horses." 

John  turned  accordingly,  and  followed  Muller's  horse 
some  three  hundred  yards  up  the  bank  till  they  came  to  a 
spot  where  the  water  ran  with  an  angry  music,  and  there 
was  a  great  swirl  of  eddies. 

"  Here  is  the  place,"  said  Muller;  "  you  must  make  haste 
through.  The  house  is  just  the  other  side,  and  it  will  be 
better  to  get  there  before  the  tempest  breaks." 

"  It's  all  very  well,"  said  John,  "  but  I  can't  see  an  inch 
before  me;  I  don't  know  where  to  drive." 

"  Drive  straight  ahead ;  the  water  is  not  more  than  three 
feet  deep,  and  there  are  no  rocks." 

"  I  am  not  going,  and  that  is  all  about  it." 

"  You  must  go,  Captain  Kiel.  You  cannot  stop  here, 
and  if  you  can  we  cannot.  Look  there,  man!"  and  he 


JESS.  221 

pointed  to  the  east,  which  now  presented  a  truly  awful 
and  magnificent  sight. 

Down,  right  on  to  them,  its  centre  bowed  out  like  the 
belly  of  a  sail  by  the  weight  of  the  wind  behind,  swept 
the  great  storm-cloud,  while  over  all  its  surface  the  light- 
ning played  unceasingly,  appearing  and  disappearing  in 
needles  of  fire,  and  twisting  and  writhing  serpentwise 
round  and  about  its  outer  edges.  So  brilliant  was  the  in- 
termittent light  that  it  appeared  to  fire  the  revolving  pil- 
lars of  mud-colored  cloud  beneath,  and  gave  ghastly  peeps 
of  river  and  bank  and  plain,  miles  upon  miles  away.  But 
perhaps  the  most  awful  thing  of  all  was  the  preternatural 
silence.  The  distant  muttering  of  thunder  that  they  had 
heard  had  died  away,  and  now  the  great  storm  swept  on 
in  silent  majesty,  like  the  passage  of  a  ghostly  host,  from 
which  there  arose  no  sound  of  feet  or  rolling  of  wheels. 
Only  before  it  sped  the  swift  angels  of  the  wind,  and  be- 
hind it  swung  the  curtain  of  the  rain. 

Even  as  Muller  spoke,  a  gust  of  icy  air  caught  the  cart 
and  tilted  it,  and  the  lightning  needles  began  to  play  more 
dreadfully  than  ever.  The  storm  was  breaking  upon  them. 

"  Come,  get  on,  get  on  !"  he  shouted,  "  you  will  be 
killed  here;  the  lightning  always  strikes  along  the  water;" 
and  as  he  said  it  he  struck  one  of  the  wheelers  sharply 
with  his  whip. 

"  Climb  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  Mouti,  and  stand  by 
to  help  me  with  the  reins!"  sung  out  John  to  the  Zulu, 
who  obeyed,  getting  between  him  and  Jess. 

"  Now,  Jess,  hang  on,  and  say  your  prayers,  for  it  strikes 
me  we  shall  have  need  of  them.  So,  horses,  so!" 

The  horses  backed  and  plunged,  but  Muller  on  the  one 
side  and  the  smooth-faced  Boer  on  the  other  lashed  them 
without  mercy,  and  at  last  in  they  went  into  the  river  with 
a  rush.  The  gust  had  passed  now,  and  for  a  moment  or 
two  there  was  renewed  silence,  except  for  the  whirl  of  the 
water  and  the  snakelike  hiss  of  the  coming  rain. 


222  JESS. 

For  a  few  yards,  ten  or  fifteen  perhaps,  all  went  well, 
and  then  John  suddenly  discovered  that  they  were  getting 
into  deep  water;  the  two  leaders  were  evidently  almost  off 
their  legs,  and  could  scarcely  stand  against  the  current  of 
the  flooded  river. 

"  Damn  you!"  he  shouted  back,  "  there  is  no  drift  here." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  it  is  all  right!", came  Muller's  voice  in 
answer. 

John  said  no  more,  but,  putting  out  all  his  strength, 
tried  to  get  the  horses  round.  Jess  turned  herself  on  the 
seat  to  look,  and  just  then  came  a  blaze  of  lightning  which 
revealed  Muller  and  his  two  companions  standing  dis- 
mounted on  the  bank,  the  muzzles  of  their  rifles  pointing 
straight  at  the  cart. 

"  Oh,  God!"  she  screamed,  "  they  are  going  to  shoot  us." 

Even  as  the  words  passed  her  lips  three  tongues  of 
flame  flared  out  from  the  rifles'  mouths,  and  the  Zulu 
Mouti,  sitting  by  her  side,  pitched  heavily  forward  on  to 
his  head  into  the  bottom  of  the  cart,  while  one  of  the 
wheelers  reared  straight  up  into  the  air  with  a  shriek  of 
agony,  and  came  down  with  a  splash  into  the  river. 

And  then  followed  a  scene  the  horror  of  which  baffles 
my  poor  pen.  Overhead  the  storm  burst  in  fury,  and  flash 
after  flash  of  fork,  or  rather  of  chain  lightning,  fell  into 
the  river.  The  thunder,  too,  began  to  crack  like  the  trump 
of  doom ;  the  wind  rushed  down,  tearing  the  surface  of  the 
water  into  foam,  and,  catching  under  the  tent  of  the  cart, 
lifted  it  clean  off  the  wheels,  so  that  it  began  to  float. 
Then  the  two  leaders,  mad  with  fear  by  the  fury  of  the 
storm  and  the  dying  struggles  of  the  off -wheeler,  plunged 
and  tore  at  the  traces  till  they  actually  rent  themselves 
loose  and  vanished  between  the  darkness  overhead  and 
the  boiling  water  beneath.  Away  floated  the  cart,  now 
touching  the  bottom  and  now  riding  on  the  water  like  a 
boat,  oscillating  this  way  and  that,  and  slowly  turning 
round  and  round.  With  it  floated  the  dead  horse,  drag- 


JESS.  223 

ging  down  the  other  wheeler  beneath  the  water.  It  was 
awful  to  see  his  struggles  in  the  glare  of  the  lightning, 
but  at  last  he  sank  and  choked. 

And  meanwhile,  sounding  sharp  and  clear  across  the 
din  and  hubbub  of  the  storm,  came  the  cracking  of  the 
three  rifles  whenever  the  flashes  showed  the  whereabouts 
of  the  cart  to  the  murderers  on  the  bank.  Mouti  was 
lying  still  in  the  bottom  on  the  bed-plank,  a  bullet  be- 
tween his  broad  shoulders  and  another  in  his  skull;  but 
John  felt  that  his  life  was  yet  whole  in  him,  though  some- 
thing had  hissed  past  his  face  and  stung  it.  Instinctively 
he  reached  across  the  cart  and  drew  Jess  on  to  his  knee, 
and  cowered  over  her,  thinking  dimly  that  perhaps  his 
body  would  protect  her  from  the  bullets. 

Rip  !  rip  !  through  the  wood  and  canvas  ;  phut !  phut ! 
through  the  air;  but  some  merciful  power  protected  them, 
and  though  one  cut  John's  coat  and  two  passed  through 
the  skirt  of  Jess's  dress,  not  a  bullet  struck  them.  And 
very  soon  the  shooting  began  to  grow  wild,  and  then  that 
dense  veil  of  rain  came  down  and  wrapped  them  so  close 
that  even  the  lightning  could  not  show  their  whereabouts 
to  the  assassins  on  the  bank. 

"  Stop  shooting,"  said  Frank  Muller ;  "  the  cart  has 
sunk,  and  there  is  an  end  of  them.  No  human  being  can 
have  lived  through  that  fire  and  the  Vaal  in  flood." 

The  two  Boers  ceased  firing,  and  the  Unicorn  shook  his 
head  softly  and  remarked  to  his  companion  that  the  damned 
English  people  in  the  water  could  not  be  much  wetter  than 
they  were  on  the  bank.  It  was  a  curious  thing  to  say  at 
such  a  moment,  but  probably  the  spirit  that  animated  the 
remark  was  not  so  much  callousness  as  that  which  ani- 
mated Cromwell,  who  flipped  the  ink  in  his  neighbor's  face 
when  he  signed  the  death-warrant  of  his  king. 

The  Vilderbeeste  made  no  reply.  His  conscience  was 
oppressed;  he  had  a  touch  of  imagination.  He  thought 
of  the  soft  fingers  that  had  bound  up  his  head  that  morn- 


224  JESS. 

ing  ;  the  handkerchief  —  her  handkerchief  !  —  was  still 
around  it.  Now  those  fingers  would  be  gripping  at  the 
slippery  stones  of  the  Vaal  in  their  death-struggle,  or 
probably  they  were  already  limp  in  death,  with  little  bits 
of  gravel  sticking  beneath  the  nails.  It  was  a  painful 
thought,  but  he  consoled  himself  by  thinking  of  the  war- 
rant, and  also  by  the  reflection  that,  whoever  had  shot  the 
people,  he  had  not,  for  he  had  been  careful  to  fire  wide  of 
the  cart  every  time. 

Muller  was  also  thinking  of  the  warrant  which  he  had 
forged.  He  must  get  it  back  somehow,  even  if — 

"  Let  us  take  shelter  under  the  bank  there.  There  is  a 
flat  place,  about  fifty  yards  up,  where  the  bank  lies  over. 
This  rain  is  drowning  us.  We  can't  up-saddle  till  it 
clears.  I  must  have  a  nip  of  brandy,  too.  Almighty!  I 
can  see  that  girl's  face  now!  the  lightning  shone  on  it 
just  as  I  shot.  Well,  she  will  be  in  heaven  now,  poor 
thing,  if  English  people  ever  go  to  heaven." 

It  was  the  Unicorn  who  spoke,  and  the  Vilderbeeste 
made  no  reply,  but  advanced  with  him  to  where  the  horses 
stood.  They  took  the  patient  brutes  that  were  waiting 
for  their  masters,  their  heads  well  down  and  the  water 
streaming  from  them,  and  led  them  along  with  them. 
Frank  Muller  stood  by  his  own  horse  thinking,  and 
watched  them  vanish  into  the  gloom.  How  was  he  to 
get  that  warrant  back  without  dyeing  his  hands  even 
redder  than  they  were  ? 

As  he  thought,  an  answer  came.  For  at  that  moment, 
accompanied  by  a  fearful  thunderclap,  there  shot  from  the 
storm  overhead,  which  had  now  nearly  passed  away,  one 
of  those  awful  flashes  that  sometimes  end  an  African  tem- 
pest. It  lit  up  the  whole  scene  round  as  light  as  day,  and 
right  in  the  white  heart  of  it  Muller  saw  his  two  compan- 
ions in  crime  and  their  horses  as  the  great  king  saw  the 
men  in  the  furnace.  They  were  about  forty  paces  from 
him,  on  the  crest  of  the  bank.  He  saw  them,  one  moment 


JESS.  225 

erect ;  the  next — men  and  horses  falling  this  way  and 
that,  prone  to  the  earth.  And  then  it  was  all  dark  again. 
He  staggered  with  the  shock,  and  when  it  had  passed 
rushed  to  the  spot,  calling  the  men  by  name;  but  no  an- 
swer came,  except  the  echo  of  his  voice.  He  was  there 
now,  and  the  moonlight  began  to  struggle  faintly  through 
the  rain.  Its  pale  beams  lit  upon  two  outstretched  forms 
— one  lying  on  its  back,  its  distorted  features  gazing  up 
to  heaven,  the  other  on  its  face.  By  them,  the  legs  of  the 
nearest  sticking  straight  into  the  air,  lay  the  two  horses. 
They  had  all  gone  to  their  account.  The  lightning  had 
killed  them,  as  it  kills  many  an  innocent  man  in  Africa. 

Frank  Muller  looked;  and  then,  forgetting  about  the 
warrant  and  everything  else  in  the  horror  of  what  he  took 
to  be  a  visible  judgment,  rushed  to  his  horse  and  galloped 
wildly  away,  pursued  by  all  the  terrors  of  hell. 
15 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE-SHADOW     OF    DEATH. 

THE  firing  from  the  bank  had  ceased,  and  John,  who 
still  kept  his  head  (being  a  rather  phlegmatic  specimen  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  race),  realized  that,  for  the  moment  at 
any  rate,  all  danger  from  that  source  was  ended.  Jess 
lay  perfectly  still  in  his  arms,  her  head  upon  his  breast; 
and  a  horrible  idea  struck  him  that  she  might  be  shot — 
perhaps  already  dead! 

"Jess,  Jess,"  he  shouted,  through  the  turmoil  of  the 
storm,  "  are  you  all  right  ?" 

She  lifted  her  head  an  inch  or  two — "  I  think  so,"  she 
said.  "  What  is  going  on  ?" 

"  God  only  knows,  I  don't.  Sit  still,  it  will  be  all 
square." 

But  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  it  was  not  "  all  square," 
and  that  they  were  in  imminent  danger  of  death  from 
drowning.  They  were  whirling  down  a  raging  river  in  a 
cart.  In  a  few  moments  it  was  probable  that  the  cart 
would  upset,  and  then — 

Presently  the  wheel  bumped  against  something,  and 
the  cart  gave  a  great  lurch  and  then  scraped  along  a 
little. 

"  Now  for  it,"  thought  John  ;  for  the  water  was  pour- 
ing over  the  flooring.  Then  came  a  check,  and  the  cart 
leaned  still  farther  over. 

Crack  !  The  pole  had  gone,  and  the  cart  swung  round 
bows,  or  rather  box,  on  to  the  stream.  What  had  hap- 
pened was  this:  they  had  stuck  across  a  rock  that  pro- 


JESS.  227 

jected  up  from  the  bed  of  the  river,  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rent having  washed  the  dead  horses  to  the  one  side  and 
the  cart  to  the  other.  Consequently  they  were  anchored 
to  the  rock,  as  it  were,  the  anchor  being  the  dead  horses, 
and  the  cable  the  stout  traces  of  untanned  leather.  So 
long  as  these  traces  and  the  rest  of  the  harness  held  they 
were,  comparatively  speaking,  safe;  but  of  course  they 
did  not  know  this.  Indeed,  they  knew  nothing.  Above 
them  rolled  the  storm,  and  round  them  the  waters  seethed, 
and  the  rain  hissed.  They  knew  nothing  except  that  they 
were  helpless  living  atoms,  tossing  between  the  wild  waters 
and  the  wilder  night,  with  imminent  death  staring  them 
in  the  face,  around,  above,  and  below.  To  and  fro  they 
swung,  locked  fast  in  each  other's  arms,  and  as  they  did 
so  came  that  awful  flash  that,  though  they  knew  it  not, 
sent  two  of  the  murderers  to  their  account,  and  for  an  in- 
stant, even  through  the  sheet  of  rain,  illumined  the  space 
of  boiling  water  and  the  long  lines  of  the  banks  on  either 
side.  It  showed  the  point  of  rock  to  which  they  were 
fixed,  it  glared  upon  the  head  of  one  of  the  poor  horses, 
tossed  up  by  the  driving  current,  as  though  it  were  trying 
to  rise  from  its  watery  death,  and  revealed  the  form  of 
the  dead  Zulu,  Mouti,  lying  on  his  face,  one  arm  hanging 
over  the  edge  of  the  cart  and  dabbling  in  the  water  that 
ran  level  with  it,  in  ghastly  similarity  to  some  idle  pas- 
senger in  a  pleasure-boat,  who  lets  his  fingers  slip  softly 
through  the  stream. 

In  a  second  it  was  gone,  and  they  were  once  more  in 
darkness.  But  then  by  degrees  the  storm  passed  off  and 
the  moon  began  to  shine,  feebly  indeed,  for  the  sky  was 
not  clear  washed  of  clouds,  which  still  trailed  along  in  the 
tracks  of  the  tempest,  sucked  after  it  by  its  mighty  draught. 
Still  it  was  lighter,  and  the  rain  gradually  thinned  till  at 
last  it  stopped.  The  storm  had  passed  in  majesty  down 
the  ways  of  the  night,  and  there  was  no  sound  round  them 
but  the  sound  of  rushing  water. 


228  JESS. 

"  John,"  said  Jess,  presently,  "  can  we  do  anything  ?" 

"  Nothing,  dear." 

•"  Shall  we  escape,  John  ?" 

He  hesitated.  "  It  is  in  God's  hands,  dear.  We  are  in 
great  danger.  If  the  cart  upsets  we  shall  be  drowned. 
Can  you  swim?" 

"  No,  John." 

"  If  we  can  hang  on  here  till  daylight  we  may  get  ashore, 
if  those  devils  are  not  there  to  shoot  us.  I  do  not  think 
that  our  chance  is  a  good  one." 

"  John,  are  you  afraid  to  die  ?" 

He  hesitated.  "  I  don't  know,  dear.  I  hope  to  meet  it 
like  a  man." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  truly  think.  Is  there  any  hope  for 
us  at  all  ?" 

Once  more  he  paused,  reflecting  whether  or  not  he  should 
speak  the  truth.  Finally  he  decided  to  do  so. 

"  I  can  see  none,  Jess.  If  we  are  not  drowned  we  are 
sure  to  be  shot.  They  will  wait  about  the  bank  till  morn- 
ing, and  for  their  own  sakes  they  will  not  dare  to  let  us 
live." 

He  did  not  know  that  all  that  was  left  of  two  of  them 
would  indeed  wait  for  many  a  long  year,  and  that  the  third 
had  fled  aghast. 

"  Jess,  dear,"  he  went  on,  "  it  is  no  good  to  tell  lies. 
Our  lives  may  end  any  minute.  Humanly  speaking,  they 
must  end  before  the  sun  is  up." 

The  words  were  awful  enough — if  the  reader  can  by  an 
effort  of  the  imagination  throw  himself  for  a  moment  into 
the  position  of  these  two,  he  will  perhaps  understand  how 
awful.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing,  when  in  the  full  flow  of 
health  and  youth,  to  be  suddenly  placed  face  to  face  with 
the  certainty  of  violent  death,  and  to  know  that  in  a  few 
more  minutes  your  course  will  have  been  run,  and  that 
you  will  have  commenced  to  explore  the  future,  which  may 
prove  to  be  even  worse,  because  more  enduring,  than  the 


JESS.  229 

life  you  are  now  quitting  in  agony.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing, 
as  any  who  have  ever  stood  in  such  a  peril  can  testify,  and 
John  felt  his  heart  sink  within  him  at  the  thought — for 
Death  is  very  strong.  But  there  is  one  thing  stronger,  a 
woman's  perfect  love.  Against  this  Death  himself  cannot 
prevail.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  now,  as  he  fixed  his 
cold  gaze  upon  Jess's  eyes,  they  answered  him  with  a 
strange,  unearthly  light.  She  feared  not  Death,  so  that 
she  might  meet  him  with  her  beloved.  Death  was  her 
hope  and  opportunity.  Here  she  had  none;  there  she 
might  have  all — or  sleep.  The  fetters  had  fallen  from 
her,  struck  off  by  an  overmastering  hand.  Her  duty  was 
satisfied,  her  trust  fulfilled,  and  she  was  free — free  to  die 
with  her  beloved.  Ay  !  her  love  was  indeed  a  love  deeper 
than  the  grave;  and  now  it  rose  in  all  its  strength,  stand- 
ing tiptoe  upon  the  earth,  ready,  when  dissolution  had  lent 
it  wings,  to  soar  to  love's  own  star. 

"  You  are  sure,  John  ?"  she  asked  again. 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes.  Why  do  you  force  me  to  repeat  it  ? 
I  can  see  no  hope." 

Her  arm's  were  round  his  neck,  her  soft  curls  rested  on 
his  cheek,  and  the  breath  from  her  lips  played  upon  his 
face.  Indeed,  it  was  only  by  speaking  into  each  other's 
ears  that  conversation  was  feasible,  owing  to  the  rushing 
sound  of  the  waters. 

"  Because  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which  I  cannot 
tell  unless  we  are  going  to  die.  You  know  it,  but  I  want 
to  say  it  with  my  own  lips  before  I  die.  I  love  you,  John; 
I  love  you,  I  love  you;  and  I  am  glad  to  die  because  I  can 
die  with  you  and  go  away  with  you." 

He  heard,  and  such  was  the  power  of  her  love,  that  his, 
which  had  been  put  out  of  mind  in  the  terror  of  that  hour, 
reawoke  and  took  the  color  of  her  own.  He,  too,  forgot 
the  imminence  of  death  in  the  warm  presence  of  his  down- 
trodden passion.  She  was  in  his  arms  as  he  had  taken  her 
during  the  firing,  and  he  bent  his  head  to  look  at  her. 


230  JESS. 

The  moonlight  played  upon  her  pallid,  quivering  face,  and 
showed  that  in  her  eyes  which  no  man  could  look  upon 
and  turn  away  from.  Once  more — yes,  even  then — there 
came  over  him  that  feeling  of  utter  surrender  to  the  sweet 
mastery  of  her  will  that  had  possessed  him  in  the  sitting- 
room  of  "The  Palatial."  But  now,  all  earthly  consider- 
ations having  faded  away,  he  no  longer  hesitated,  but 
pressed  his  lips  against  hers  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 
It  was  perhaps  as  wild  and  pathetic  a  love  scene  as  ever  the 
old  moon  above  has  looked  upon.  There  they  were,  those 
two,  experiencing  the  fullest  and  acutest  joy  that  life  has 
to  offer  in  the  actual  shadow  of  death.  Nay,  death  was 
present  with  them;  for  there,  beneath  their  feet,  half -hid- 
den by  the  water,  was  the  stiffening  corpse  of  the  Zulu. 

To  and  fro  swung  the  cart  in  the  rush  of  the  swollen 
river,  up  and  down  beside  them  the  carcasses  of  the  horses 
rose  and  fell  with  the  swell  of  the  water,  on  whose  surface 
the  broken  moonbeams  played  and  quivered.  Overhead 
was  the  blue,  star-sown  depth  through  which  they  were 
waiting  presently  to  pass,  and  to  the  right  and  left  the 
long,  broken  outlines  of  the  banks  stretched  dway  till  at 
Jast  they  appeared  to  grow  together  in  the  gloom. 

But  they  heeded  none  of  these  things;  they  remembered 
nothing  except  that  they  had  found  each  other's  hearts, 
and  were  happy  with  a  wild  joy  it  is  not  often  given  to  us 
to  feel.  The  past  was  forgotten,  the  future  was  at  hand, 
and  between  the  one  and  the  other  was  spanned  a  bridge 
of  passion  made  perfect  and  sanctified  by  the  approach- 
ing end.  Bessie  was  forgotten,  all  things  were  forgotten 
in  that  consuming  fire. 

Let  those  who  would  blame  them  pause  awhile.  Why 
not  ?  They  had  kept  the  faith.  They  had  denied  them- 
selves and  run  straightly  down  the  path  of  duty.  But  the 
compacts  of  life  end  with  life.  No  man  may  bargain  for 
the  beyond.  Even  the  marriage  service  shrinks  from  it. 
And  now  that  hope  had  gone  and  life  was  at  its  extremest 


JESS.  L':;i 

ebb,  why  should  they  not  take  their  happiness  before  they 
passed  to  the  land  where,  perchance,  all  things  will  be  for- 
gotten. So  it  seemed  to  them;  if  indeed  they  were  any 
longer  capable  of  reason. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  she  laid  her  head  upon  his 
heart  in  that  mute  abandonment  of  worship  which  is 
sometimes  to  be  met  with  in  the  world,  and  is  redeemed 
from  vulgar  passion  by  an  indefinable  quality  of  its  own. 
He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  was  glad  to  have  lived,  ay, 
even  to  have  reached  this  hour  of  death.  And  she,  lost  in 
the  depths  of  her  own  nature,  sobbed  out  her  passion-laden 
heart  upon  his  breast,  and  called  him  her  own,  her  own, 
her  very  own ! 

And  so  the  long  hours  passed,  till  at  last  a  new-born 
freshness  in  the  air  told  them  that  they  were  not  far  from 
dawn.  The  death  they  were  waiting  for  had  not  yet 
come.  It  must  now  be  very  near  at  hand. 

"John,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "do  you  think  that 
they  will  shoot  us  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  hoarsely;  "they  must  for  their  own 
safety." 

"  I  wish  it  were  over,"  she  said. 

Suddenly  she  started  back  from  his  arms  with  a  little 
cry,  causing  the  cart  to  rock  violently. 

"I  forgot,"  she  said — "you  can  swim  though  I  cannot. 
Why  cannot  you  swim  to  the  bank  and  get  off  under  covi-r 
of  the  darkness.  It  is  not  more  than  fifty  yards,  and  the 
current  is  not  so  very  swift  ?" 

The  idea  of  escaping  without  Jess  had  never  occurred  to 
him,  and  now  that  she  suggested  it,  it  struck  him  as  so 
absurd  that  he  actually  broke  into  a  ghost  of  a  laugh. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Jess,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will.  Go  !  You  must  go  !  It  does  not 
matter  about  me  now.  I  know  you  love  me,  and  I  can 
die  happy.  I  will  wait  for  you.  Oh,  John  !  wherever  I 


232  JESS. 

am,  if  I  have  any  life  and  any  remembrance  I  will  wait 
for  you.  Never  forget  that  all  your  life.  However  far  I 
may  seem  away,  if  I  live  at  all,  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you. 
And  now  go;  you  shall  go,  I  say  !  No,  I  will  not  be  dis- 
obeyed. If  you  will  not  go  I  will  throw  myself  into  the 
water.  Oh,  the  cart  is  turning  over  !" 

"  Hold  on,  for  God's  sake!"  shouted  John.  "  The  traces 
have  broken." 

He  was  right;  the  tough  leather  was  at  length  worn 
through  by  the  constant  rubbing  against  the  rock,  and  the 
strain  and  swaying  of  the  cart  on  the  one  side  and  the 
dead  horses  on  the  other.  Round  it  spun,  broadside  on  to 
the  current,  and  immediately  began  to  heave  over  till  at 
last  the  angle  was  so  sharp  that  the  dead  body  of  poor 
Mouti  slid  out  with  a  splash  and  vanished  into  the  dark- 
ness. This  relieved  the  cart,  and  it  righted  for  a  moment; 
but  being  now  no  longer  held  up  by  the  bodies  of  the 
horses,  or  by  the  sustaining  power  of  the  wind,  it  began  to 
fill  and  sink,  and  at  the  same  time  to  revolve  round  and 
round.  John  realized  that  it  was  all  up,  and  that  to  stop 
in  the  cart  would  only  mean  certain  death,  because  they 
would  be  held  under  water  by  the  canvas  tent.  So,  with  a 
devout  aspiration  for  assistance,  he  seized  Jess  round  the 
waist  with  one  arm  and  sprang  off  into  the  water.  As  he 
did  so  the  cart  filled  and  sank. 

"  Lie  still,  for  Heaven's  sake  !"  he  shouted,  as  they  rose 
to  the  surface. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  dawn,  which  was  now  creeping 
over  the  earth,  he  could  make  out  the  line  of  the  left  bank 
of  the  Vaal,  the  same  from  which  they  had  started  into 
the  river  on  the  previous  night.  It  appeared  to  be  about 
forty  yards  away,  but  the  current  was  running  quite  six 
knots  and  he  realized  that,  burdened  as  he  was,  it  would 
be  quite  impracticable  for  him  to  try  and  reach  it.  The 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  keep  afloat.  Luckily  the  water 
was  warm  and  he  was  a  strong  swimmer.  In  a  minute 


JESS.  233 

or  so  he  made  out  that  about  fifty  paces  ahead  some  rocks 
jutted  out  twenty  yards  into  the  bed  of  the  stream.  Then, 
catching  Jess  by  the  hair  with  his  left  hand,  he  made  his 
effort,  and  a  desperate  one  it  was.  The  broken  water 
boiled  furiously  round  the  rocks.  Presently  he  was  in  it, 
and,  better  still,  his  feet  touched  the  ground.  Next  sec- 
ond he  was  swept  off  them  and  rolled  over  and  over  at  the 
bottom  of  the  river,  getting  sadly  knocked  about  against 
the  bowlders.  Somehow  he  struggled  to  his  legs,  still  re- 
taining his  hold  of  Jess.  Twice  he  fell,  and  twice  he 
struggled  up  again.  One  more  effort — so.  The  water 
was  only  up  to  his  thighs  now,  and  he  was  obliged  to  half 
carry  his  companion.  As  he  lifted  her  he  felt  a  deadly 
sickness  come  over  him,  but  still  he  struggled  on  like  a 
man,  till  at  last  they  both  fell  of  a  heap  upon  a  big  flat 
rock,  and  for  a  while  he  remembered  no  more. 

When  he  came  to  himself  again  it  was  to  find  Jess,  who 
had  recovered  sooner  than  he  had,  standing  over  him  and 
chafing  his  hands.  Indeed,  as  the  sun  was  up  he  guessed 
that  he  must  have  lost  his  senses  for  some  time.  He  rose 
with  some  difficulty  and  shook  himself.  Except  for  some 
bruises,  he  was  sound  enough. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked  of  Jess,  who,  pale  and  faint 
and  bruised,  her  hat  gone,  her  dress  torn  by  bullets  and 
the  rocks,  and  dripping  water  at  every  step,  looked  an  ex- 
ceedingly forlorn  object. 

"  No,"  she  said,  feebly,  "  not  very  much." 

He  sat  down  on  the  rock  in  the  sun,  for  they  were  both 
shivering  with  cold.  "  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Die,"  she  said,  fiercely  ;  "  I  meant  to  die — why  did 
you  not  let  me  die?  Ours  is  a  position  that  only  death 
can  set  straight." 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  "your  desire  will  soon  be 
gratified  :  those  murdering  villains  will  hunt  us  up  pres- 
ently." 

The  bed  and  banks  of  the  river  were  clothed  with  thin 


234  JESS. 

layers  of  mist,  but  as  the  sun  gathered  power  these  lifted. 
The  spot  where  they  had  got  ashore  was  about  three 
hundred  yards  below  that  where  the  two  Boers  and  their 
horses  had  been  destroyed  by  the  lightning  on  the  pre- 
vious night.  Seeing  the  mist  lift,  John  insisted  upon  Jess 
crouching  with  him  behind  a  rock  so  that  they  could  look 
up  and  down  the  river  without  being  seen  themselves. 
Presently  he  made  out  the  forms  of  two  horses  grazing 
about  two  hundred  yards  away. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  thought  so;  the  devils  have  off-sad- 
dled there.  Thank  Heaven  I  have  still  got  my  revolver, 
and  tHe  cartridges  are  water-tight.  I  mean  to  sell  our 
lives  as  dearly  as  I  can." 

"  Why,  John,"  cried  Jess,  following  the  line  of  his  out- 
stretched hand,  "those  are  not  the  Boers'  horses;  they  are 
our  two  leaders  that  broke  loose  in  the  water.  Look,  their 
collars  are  still  on." 

"  By  Jove !  so  they  are.  Now  if  only  we  can  catch 
them  without  being  caught  ourselves  we  have  a  chance 
of  getting  out  of  this." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  cover  about,  and  I  can't  see  any 
signs  of  Boers.  They  must  have  been  sure  of  having 
killed  us  and  gone  away." 

John  looked  round,  and  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of 
hope  began  to  creep  into  his  heart.  Perhaps  they  would 
survive  after  all. 

"  Let's  go  up  and  see.  It  is  no  good  stopping  here  ;  we 
must  get  some  food  somewhere.  I  feel  as  wreak  as  a  cat." 

She  rose  without  a  word,  and,  taking  his  hand,  they  ad- 
vanced together  along  the  bank.  They  had  not  gone 
twenty  yards  before  John  gave  an  exclamation  of  joy, 
and  rushed  at  something  white  that  had  stuck  in  some 
reeds.  It  was  the  basket  of  food  which  had  been  given 
to  them  by  the  innkeeper's  wife  at  Heidelberg.  It  had 
been  washed  out  of  the  cart,  and,  as  the  lid  was  fastened, 
nothing  had  been  lost  out  of  it.  He  undid  it.  There  was 


JESS.  235 

the  bottle  of  three-star  brandy  untouched,  also  most  of 
the  eggs,  meat,  and  bread,  which  last  was,  of  course,  sod- 
den and  worthless.  It  did  not  take  long  to  get  the  cork 
out,  and  then  John  filled  a  broken  wineglass  there  was  in 
the  basket  half -full  of  water  and  half  of  brandy,  and  made 
Jess  drink  it,  with  the  result  that  she  began  to  look  a  lit- 
tle less  like  a  corpse.  Next,  he  repeated  the  process  twice 
on  his  own  account,  and  instantly  felt  as  though  new  life 
were  flowing  into  him.  Then  they  went  cautiously  on. 

The  horses  allowed  them  to  catch  them  without  trouble, 
and  did  not  appear  to  be  any  the  worse  for  their  advent- 
ure, though  the  flank  of  one  was  grazed  by  a  bullet. 

"There  is  a  tree  down  there  where  the  bank  shelves 
over;  we  had  better  tie  the  horses  up,  dress,  and  get  some 
breakfast,"  said  John,  almost  cheerfully;  and  accordingly 
they  proceeded  thither.  Suddenly  John,  who  was  ahead, 
started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  fear,  and  the  horses 
began  to  snort,  for  there,  stark  and  stiff  in  death,  and 
already  swollen  and  discolored  by  decomposition — as  is 
sometimes  the  case  with  people  killed  by  lightning — the 
rifles  in  their  hands  twisted  and  fused,  their  clothes  cut 
and  blown  from  the  bodies  by  the  explosion  of  the  car- 
tridges in  their  bandoliers — lay  the  two  Boers  themselves. 
It  was  a  terrifying  sight,  and,  taken  in  conjunction  with 
their  own  remarkable  escape,  one  to  make  the  most  care- 
less and  sceptical  reflect. 

"  And  yet  there  are  people  who  say  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  God,  and  no  punishment  for  wickedness," 
said  John,  aloud. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MEANWHILE. 

JOHN,  it  will  be  remembered,  left  Mooifontein  for  Pre- 
toria towards  the  end  of  December,  and  with  him  went  all 
the  life  and  light  of  the  place. 

"  Dear  me,  Bessie,"  said  old  Silas  Croft  on  the  evening 
after  he  had  started,  "  the  place  seems  very  dull  without 
John,"  a  remark  in  which  Bessie,  who  was  secretly  weep- 
ing in  the  corner,  heartily  concurred.  ' 

Then,  a  few  days  afterwards,  came  the  news  of  the  in- 
vestment of  Pretoria,  but  no  news  of  John.  They  ascer- 
tained that  he  had  passed  Standerton  in  safety,  but  be- 
yond that  nothing  could  be  heard  of  him.  Day  after 
day  passed,  but  no  news,  and  at  last,  one  evening,  Bessie 
broke  out  in  a  passion  of  hysterical  tears. 

"  What  did  you  send  him  for  ?"  she  asked  of  her  uncle. 
"  It  was  ridiculous — I  knew  it  was  ridiculous.  He  could 
not  help  Jess  or  get  her  back  ;  the  most  that  could  hap- 
pen was  that  they  both  would  be  shut  up  together.  And 
now  he  is  dead — I  know  that  those  Boers  have  shot  him — 
and  it  is  all  your  fault !  And  if  he  is  dead  I  will  never 
speak  to  you  again." 

The  old  man  retreated,  somewhat  dismayed  at  this  out- 
burst, which  was  not  at  all  in  Bessie's  style. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  is  the  way  of  wom- 
en ;  they  turn  into  tigers  about  a  man  !" 

There  may  have  been  truth  in  this  reflection,  but  a  tiger 
is  not  a  pleasant  domestic  pet,  as  poor  old  Silas  found  out 
during  the  next  two  months.  The  more  Bessie  thought 


JE88.  237 

about  the  matter  the  more  incensed  she  grew  at  his  hav- 
ing sent  her  lover  away.  Indeed,  in  a  little  while  she 
quite  forgot  that  she  had  herself  acquiesced  in  his  going. 
In  short,  her  temper  completely  gave  way  under  the  strain, 
so  that  at  last  her  uncle  scarcely  dared  to  mention  John's 
name. 

Meanwhile  things  had  been  going  as  ill  without  as 
within.  First  of  all — that  was  the  day  after  John's  de- 
parture— two  or  three  loyal  Boers  and  an  English  store- 
keeper from  Lake  Chrissie,  in  New  Scotland,  outspanned 
on  the  place  and  came  and  implored  Silas  Croft  to  fly  for 
his  life  into  Natal  while  there  was  yet  time.  They  said 
that  the  Boers  would  certainly  shoot  any  Englishmen  who 
might  be  sufficiently  defenceless.  But  the  old  man  would 
not  listen. 

"  I  am  an  Englishman — civ  is  JRomamts  sum,"  he  said,  in 
his  sturdy  fashion, "  and  I  do  not  believe  that  they  will 
touch  me,  who  have  lived  among  them  for  twenty  years. 
At  any  rate,  I  am  not  going  to  run  away  and  leave  my 
place  at  the  mercy  of  a  pack  of  thieves.  If  they  shoot 
me  they  will  have  to  reckon  with  England  for  the  deed, 
so  I  expect  that  they  will  leave  me  alone.  Bessie  can  go 
if  she  likes,  but  I  shall  stop  here  and  see  the  row  through, 
and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

Whereon,  Bessie  having  flatly  declined  to  budge  an  inch, 
the  loyalists  departed  in  a  hurry,  metaphorically  wringing 
their  hands  at  such  an  exhibition  of  ill-placed  confidence 
and  insular  pride.  This  little  scene  occurred  at  dinner- 
time, and  after  dinner  old  Silas  proceeded  to  hurl  defiance 
at  his  foes  in  another  fashion.  Going  to  a  cupboard  in 
his  bedroom,  he  extracted  an  exceedingly  large  Union  Jack, 
and  promptly  advanced  with  it  to  an  open  spot  between 
two  of  the  orange-trees  in  front  of  the  house,  where  a  flag- 
staff was  planted,  formed  of  a  very  tall  young  blue-gum, 
in  such  a  position  that  it  could  be  seen  for  miles  around. 
On  this  flagstaff  it  was  old  Silas's  habit  to  hoist  the  Union 


238  JESS. 

Jack  on  the  queen's  birthday,  Christmas-day,  and  other 
state  occasions. 

"  Now,  Jantje,"  he  said,  when  he  had  bent  on  the  flag, 
"  run  her  up,  and  I'll  cheer  !"  and,  accordingly,  as  the  broad 
flag  floated  out  on  the  breeze,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  waved 
it,  and  gave  such  a  "  hip,  hip,  hurrah  !"  in  his  stentorian 
tones  that  Bessie  came  running  down  from  the  house  to 
see  what  was  the  matter.  Nor  was  he  satisfied  with  this, 
but,  having  obtained  a  ladder,  he  placed  it  against  the  post 
and  sent  Jantje  up  it,  instructing  him  to  fasten  the  rope 
on  which  the  flag  was  bent  about  fifteen  feet  from  the 
ground,  so  that  nobody  should  get  at  it  to  haul  it  down. 

"  There,"  he  said, "  I've  nailed  my  colors  to  the  mast. 
That  will  show  these  gentry  that  an  Englishman  lives  here. 

"  '  Confound  their  politics, 

Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks — 
God  save  the  queen.' " 

"  Amen,"  said  Bessie,  but  she  had  her  doubts  about  the 
wisdom  of  that  Union  Jack  which,  whenever  the  wind  blew, 
streamed  out  a  visible  defiance  not  calculated  to  soothe  the 
breasts  of  excited  patriots. 

Indeed,  two  days  after  that,  a  patrol  of  three  Boers,  spy- 
ing the  ensign  while  yet  a  long  way  off,  came  galloping  up 
in  hot  haste  to  see  what  it  meant.  Silas  saw  them  com- 
ing, and,  taking  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  went  and  stood  be- 
neath the  flag,  for  which  he  had  an  almost  superstitious 
veneration,  feeling  sure  that  they  would  not  dare  to  med- 
dle either  with  him  or  it. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Om  Silas  ?"  asked  the 
leader  of  the  three  men,  with  all  of  whom  he  was  perfect- 
ly acquainted. 

"  It  means  that  an  Englishman  lives  here,  Jan,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Haul  the  dirty  rag  down,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  will  see  you  d d  first !"  replied  old  Silas. 

Thereon  the  Boer  dismounted  and  made  for  the  flag- 


JESS.  239 

staff,  only  to  find  Uncle  Croft's  rifle  in  a  direct  line  with 
his  chest. 

"  You  will  have  to  shoot  me  first,  Jan,"  he  said,  and 
thereon,  after  some  consultation,  they  left  him  and  went 
away. 

The  fact  was  that,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  an  Eng- 
lishman, Silas  Croft  was  very  popular  with  the  Boers, 
most  of  whom  had  known  him  since  they  were  children, 
and  a  member  of  whose  Volksraad  he  had  twice  been.  It 
was  to  this  p'ersonal  popularity  that  he  owed  the  fact  that 
he  was  not  turned  out  of  his  house  and  forced  to  choose 
between  serving  against  his  countrymen  or  being  impris- 
oned and  otherwise  maltreated  at  the  very  commencement 
of  the  rebellion. 

For  a  fortnight  or  more  after  this  flag  episode  nothing 
of  any  importance  happened,  and  then  came  the  news  of 
the  crushing  defeat  at  Laing's  Nek.  At  first,  Silas  Croft 
would  not  believe  the  news.  "No  general  could  have 
been  so  mad,"  he  said;  but  soon  the  report  was  amply  con- 
firmed from  native  sources. 

Another  week  passed,  and  with  it  came  the  news  of  the 
British  defeat  at  Ingbgo.  The  first  they  heard  of  it  was 
on  the  morning  of  February  8,  when  Jantje  brought  a 
Kaffir  up  to  the  veranda  at  breakfast-time.  This  Kaffir 
said  that  he  had  been  watching  the  fight  from  a  mountain ; 
that  the  English  were  completely  hemmed  in  and  fighting 
well,  but  that  "  their  arms  were  tired,"  and  they  would  all 
be  killed  at  night-time.  The  Boers,  he  said,  were  not 
suffering  at  all — the  English  could  not  "  shoot  straight." 
After  hearing  this  they  passed  a  sufficiently  miserable  day 
and  evening.  About  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  however, 
a  native  spy  Mr.  Croft  had  despatched  came  back  with 
the  report  that  the  English  general  had  got  safely  back  to 
camp,  having  suffered  heavily  and  abandoned  his  wounded, 
many  of  whom  had  died  in  the  rain,  for  the  night  after 
the  battle  was  wet. 


240  JESS. 

Then  came  another  long  pause,  during  which  no  reliable 
news  reached  them,  though  the  air  was  thick  with  rumors, 
and  old  Silas  was  made  happy  by  hearing  that  large  rein- 
forcements were  on  their  way  from  England. 

"Ah,  Bessie,  my  dear,  they  will  soon  sing  another  tune 
now,"  he  said,  in  great  glee;  "  and  what's  more,  it's  about 
time  they  did.  I  can't  understand  what  the  soldiers  have 
been  about — I  can't  indeed." 

And  so  the  time  wore  heavily  along  till  at  last  there 
came  a  dreadful  day  which  Bessie  will  never  forget  as 
long  as  she  lives.  It  was  the  20th  of  February — just  a 
week  before  the  final  disaster  at  Majuba  Hill.  "  Bessie  was 
standing  idly  on  the  veranda,  looking  down  the  long  ave- 
nue of  blue-gums,  where  the  shadows  formed  a  dark  net- 
work to  catch  the  wandering  rays  of  light.  The  place 
looked  very  peaceful,  and  certainly  no  one  could  have 
known  from  its  appearance  that  a  bloody  war  was  being 
waged  within  a  few  miles.  The  Kaffirs  came  and  went 
about  their  work  as  usual,  or  made  pretence  to;  but  now 
and  then  a  close  observer  might  see  them  stop  and  look 
towards  the  Drakensberg  and  then  say  a  few  words  to 
their  neighbor  about  the  wonderful  thing  that  had  come 
to  pass  that  the  Boers  were  beating  the  great  white  peo- 
ple, who  came  out  of  the  sea  and  shook  the  earth  with 
their  tread.  Whereon  the  neighbor  would  take  the  op- 
portunity to  relax  from  toil  and  squat  down,  and  have  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  relate  in  what  particular  collection  of 
rocks  on  the  hillside  he  and  his  wives  slept  the  last  night, 
for  when  the  Boers  are  out  on  commando  the  Kaffirs  will 
not  sleep  in  their  huts  for  fear  of  being  surprised  and  shot 
down.  Then  the  pair  would  spend  half  an  hour  or  so  in 
speculating  on  what  would  be  their  fate  when  the  Boers 
had  eaten  up  the  Englishmen  and  taken  back  the  country, 
and  finally  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  had  better 
emigrate  to  Natal. 

Bessie,  on  the  veranda,  noted  all  this  going  on,  every 


JESS.  241 

now  and  again  catching  snatches  of  the  lazy  rascals'  talk, 
which  chimed  in  but  too  sadly  with  her  own  thoughts. 
Turning  from  it  impatiently,  she  began  to  watch  the  hens 
marching  solemnly  about  the  drive,  followed  by  their 
broods.  This  picture,  too,  had  a  sanguinary  background, 
for  under  an  orange-tree  two  rival  cocks  were  fighting  fu- 
riously. They  always  did  this  about  once  a  week,  nor 
did  they  cease  from  troubling  till  each  retired,  temporari- 
ly blinded,  to  the  shade  of  a  separate  orange-tree,  where 
they  spent  the  rest  of  the  week  in  recovering,  only  to 
emerge  when  the  cure  was  effected  and  fight  their  battles 
over  again.  Meanwhile  a  third  cock,  young  in  years  but 
old  in  wisdom,  who  steadily  refused  to  fight  when  attacked, 
looked  after  the  'hens  in  dispute.  To-day  the  fight  was 
particularly  ferocious,  and,  fearing  that  the  combatants 
would  have  no  eyes  left  at  all  if  she  did  not  interfere,  Bes- 
sie called  to  the  old  Boer  hound  who  was  lying  in  the  sun 
on  the  veranda. 

"Hi,  Stomp,  Stomp — hunt  them,  Stomp!" 

Up  jumped  Stomp  and  made  a  prodigious  show  of  furi- 
ously attacking  the  embattled  cocks;  it  was  an  operation 
to  which  he  was  used,  and  which  afforded  him  constant 
amusement.  Suddenly,  however,  as  he  dashed  towards 
the  trees,  he  stopped  midway,  his  simulated  wrath  ceased, 
and,  instead,  an  expression  of  real  disgust  came  upon 
his  honest  face.  Then  the  hair  along  his  backbone  stood 
up  like  the  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine,  and  he 
growled. 

"  A  strange  Kaffir,  I  expect,"  said  Bessie  to  herself. 

Stomp  hated  strange  Kaffirs.  She  had  scarcely  got  the 
words  out  before  they  were  justified  by  the  appearance  of 
a  native.  He  was  a  villainous-looking  fellow,  with  one 
eye,  and  nothing  on  but  a  ragged  pair  of  trousers  fastened 
round  the  waist  with  a  greasy  leather  strap.  In  his  wool, 
however,  were  stuck  several  small  distended  bladders  such 
as  are  generally  worn  by  medicine-men  and  witch-doctors. 
16 


242  JESS. 

In  his  left  hand  he  held  a  long  stick,  cleft  at  the  end.  lu 
the  cleft  was  a  letter. 

"  Come  here,  Stomp,"  said  Bessie,  and  as  she  did  so  a 
wild  hope  shot  across  her  heart  like  a  meteor  across  the 
night;  perhaps  the  letter  was  from  John. 

The  dog  obeyed  her  unwillingly  enough,  for  he  evident- 
ly did  not  like  that  Kaffir;  and  when  he  saw  that  Stomp 
was  well  out  of  the  way  the  Kaffir  himself  followed.  He 
was  an  insolent  fellow,  and  took  no  notice  of  Bessie  be- 
yond squatting  himself  down  upon  the  drive  in  front  of  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  Bessie  in  Dutch,  her  lips  trembling 
as  she  spoke. 

"  A  letter,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Give  it  to  me." 

"  No,  missie,  not  till  I  have  looked  at  you  to  see  if  it  is 
right.  Light  yellow  hair  that  curls — one"  checking  it  on 
his  fingers,  "  yes,  that  is  right;  large  blue  eyes — two,  that 
is  right;  big  and  tall,  and  fair  as  a  star — yes,  the  letter  is 
for  you,  take  it,"  and  he  poked  the  long  stick  up  almost 
into  her  face. 

"  Where  is  it  from  ?"  asked  Bessie,  with  sudden  sus- 
picion, recoiling  a  step. 

"  Wakkerstroom  last." 

"  Who  is  it  from  ?" 

"  Read  it,  and  you  will  see." 

Bessie  took  the  letter,  which  was  wrapped  up  in  a 
piece  of  old  newspaper,  from  the  cleft  of  the  stick  and 
turned  it  over  and  over  doubtfully.  Most  of  us  have  a 
mistrust  of  strange-looking  letters,  and  this  letter  was  un- 
usually strange.  To  begin  with,  it  had  no  address  what- 
ever on  the  dirty  envelope,  which  was  curious.  In  the 
second  place,  the  envelope  was  sealed  apparently  with  a 
threepenny  bit. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  for  me  ?"  asked  Bessie. 

"  Yah,  yah — sure,  sure,"  answered  the  native,  with  a 
rude  laugh.  "  There  are  not  many  such  white  girls  in  the 


JESS.  243 

Transvaal.  I  have  made  no  mistake.  I  have  '  smelt  you 
out.' "  And  he  began  to  go  through  his  catalogue — "  Yel- 
low hair  that  curls,"  etc. — again. 

Then  Bessie  opened  the  letter.  Inside  was  an  ordinary 
sheet  of  paper  written  over  in  a  bold,  firm,  yet  slightly  un- 
practised writing  that  Bessie  knew  well  enough,  and  the 
sight  of  which  filled  her  with  a  presentiment  of  evil.  It 
was  Frank  Muller's. 

She  turned  sick  and  cold,  but  could  not  choose  but  read 
as  follows: 

"CAMP  NEAR  PRETORIA,  15  Febr>tary. 

"  DEAR  Miss  BESSIE, — I  am  sorry  to  have  to  write  to 
you;  but  though  we  have  quarrelled  lately,  and  also  your 
good  uncle,  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  so,  and  send  this  to 
your  hand  by  special  runner.  Yesterday  was  a  sortie  made 
by  the  poor  folk  in  Pretoria,  who  are  now  as  thin  with  hun- 
ger as  the  high  veldt  oxen  just  before  spring.  Our  arms 
were  again  victorious;  the  redcoats  ran  away  and  left  their 
ambulance  in  our  hands,  carrying  with  them  many  dead 
and  wounded.  Among  the  dead  was  the  Captain  ifael — " 

Here  Bessie  gave  a  sort  of  choked  cry,  and  let  the  letter 
fall  over  the  veranda,  to  one  of  the  posts  of  which  she 
clung  with  both  her  hands. 

The  ill-favored  native  below  grinned,  and,  picking  the 
paper  up,  handed  it  to  her. 

She  took  it,  feeling  that  she  must  know  all,  and  read  on 
like  one  reads  in  some  ghastly  dream — 

"  who  has  been  staying  on  your  uncle's  farm.  I  did  not  see 
him  killed  myself,  but  Jan  Vanzyl  shot  him,  and  Roi  Dirk 
Oosthuizen,  and  Carolus,  a  Hottentot,  saw  them  pick  him  up 
and  carry  him  away.  They  say  that  he  was  quite  dead.  For 
this  I  fear  you  will  be  sorry,  but  it  is  the  chance  of  war, 
and  he  died  fighting  bravely.  Make  my  obedient  compli- 
ments to  your  uncle.  We  parted  in  anger,  but  I  hope  in  the 
new  circumstances  that  have  arisen  in  the  land  to  show  him 
that  I,  for  one,  bear  no  anger.  Believe  me,  dear  Miss  Bessie, 
your  humble  and  devoted  servant,  FRANK  MVLLER." 


244  J  E  S  S. 

Bessie  thrust  the  letter  into  the  pocket  of  her  dress,  and 
then  again  caught  hold  of  the  veranda  post  and  supported 
herself  by  it,  while  the  light  of  the  sun  seemed  to  visibly 
fade  out  of  the  day  before  her  eyes  and  replace  itself  by 
a  cold  blackness  in  which  there  was  no  break.  He  was 
dead! — her  lover  was  dead!  The  glow  had  gone  from  her 
life  as  it  seemed  to  be  going  from  the  day,  and  she  was 
left  desolate.  She  had  no  knowledge  of  how  long  she 
stood  thus,  staring  with  wide  eyes  at  the  sunshine  she 
could  not  see.  She  had  lost  her  count  of  time;  all  things 
were  phantasmagorical  and  unreal;  all  that  she  could  real- 
ize was  this  one  overpowering,  crushing  fact — John  was 
dead ! 

"  Missie,"  said  the  ill-favored  messenger  below,  fixing  his 
one  eye  upon  her  poor  sorrow-stricken  face  and  yawning. 

There  was  no  answer. 

<4  Missie,"  he  said  again,  "  is  there  any  answer  ?  I  must 
be  going.  I  want  to  get  back  in  time  to  see  the  Boers 
take  Pretoria." 

Bessie  looked  at  him  vaguely.  "  Yours  is  a  message 
that  needs  no  answer,"  she  said.  "  What  is,  is." 

The  brute  laughed.  "  No,  I  can't  take  a  letter  to  the 
captain,"  he  said ;  "  I  saw  Jan  Vanzyl  shoot  him.  He  fell 
so,"  and  he  suddenly  collapsed  all  in  a  heap  on  the  path,  in 
imitation  of  a  man  struck  dead  by  a  bullet.  "  I  can't  take 
him  a  message,  missie,"  he  went  on,  rising,  "  but  one  day 
you  will  be  able  to  go  and  look  for  him  yourself.  I  did 
not  mean  that;  what  I  meant  was  that  I  could  take  a  let- 
ter to  Frank  Muller.  A  live  Boer  is  better  than  a  dead 
Englishman;  and  Frank  Muller  will  make  a  fine  husband 
for  any  girl.  If  you  shut  your  eyes  you  won't  know  the 
difference." 

"Go!"  said  Bessie,  in  a  choked  voice,  and  pointing  her 
hand  towards  the  avenue. 

Such  was  the  suppressed  energy  in  her  tone  that  the 
man  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  as  he  did  so,  interpreting 


JESS.  245 

her  gesture  as  an  encouragement  to  action,  the  old  dog, 
Stomp,  who  had  been  watching  him  all  the  time,  and  oc- 
casionally giving  utterance  to  a  low  growl  of  animosity, 
flew  straight  at  his  throat  from  the  veranda.  The  dog, 
which  was  a  heavy  one,  struck  the  man  full  in  the  chest 
and  knocked  him  clean  backwards.  Down  came  dog  and 
man  on  the  drive  together,  and  then  ensued  a  terrible 
scene,  the  man  cursing  and  shrieking  and  striking  out  at 
the  dog,  and  the  dog  worrying  the  man  in  a  fashion  that 
he  was  not  likely  to  forget  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Bessie,  whose  energy  seemed  again  to  be  exhausted, 
toek  absolutely  no  notice  of  the  fray,  and  it  was  at  this 
juncture  that  her  old  uncle  arrived  upon  the  scene,  togeth- 
er with  two  Kaffirs — the  same  whom  Bessie  had  been 
watching  idling. 

"Hullo!  hullo!"  he  halloaed  out  in  his  stentorian  tones, 
"  what  is  all  this  about  ?  Get  off,  you  brute!"  and  what 
between  his  voice  and  the  blows  of  the  Kaffirs  the  dog 
was  persuaded  to  let  go  his  hold  of  the  man,  who  stag- 
gered to  his  feet,  severely  mauled,  and  bleeding  from 
half  a  dozen  bites. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  say  anything,  but  picked  up 
his  stick.  Then,  however,  having  first  seen  that  the  dog 
was  being  held  by  the  Kaffirs,  he  turned,  his  face  stream- 
ing with  blood,  his  one  eye  blazing  with  fury,  and,  shaking 
both  his  clinched  fists  at  poor  Bessie,  broke  into  a  scream 
of  cursing: 

"  You  shall  pay  for  this — Frank  Muller  shall  make  you 
pay  for  it.  I  am  his  servant.  I — " 

"  Get  out  of  this,  whoever  you  are,"  thundered  old  Silas, 
"  or  by  Heaven  I  will  let  the  dog  on  you  again !"  and  he 
pointed  to  Stomp,  who  was  struggling  wildly  with  the  two 
Kaffirs. 

The  man  paused  and  looked  at  the  dog,  and  then,  with 
a  final  shake  of  the  fist,  departed  at  a  run  down  the  avenue, 
turning  once  only  to  look  if  the  dog  were  coming. 


246  JESS. 

Bessie  vacantly  watched  him  go,  taking  no  more  notice 
of  it  than  she  had  of  the  noise  of  the  fighting.  Then,  as 
though  struck  by  a  thought,  she  turned  and  went  into  the 
sitting-room. 

"  What  is  all  this  about,  Bessie?"  said  her  uncle,  follow- 
ing her.  "  What  does  the  man  mean  about  Frank  Muller  ?" 

"  It  means,  uncle  dear,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that 
was  something  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh,  "that  I  am  a 
widow  before  I  am  married.  John  is  dead!" 

"  Dead!  dead!"  said  the  old  man,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  and  turning  round  in  a  dazed  sort  of  fashion — 
"John  dead!" 

"  Read  the  letter,"  said  Bessie,  handing  him  Frank  Mul- 
ler's  missive. 

The  old  man  took  it  and  read  it.  His  hand  shook  so 
much  that  it  took  him  a  long  while  to  come  to  the  end  of  it. 

"Good  God!"  he  said  at  last,  "what  a  blow!  My  poor 
Bessie,"  and  he  took  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  "Perhaps  it  is  all  one 
of  Frank  Muller's  lies,"  he  said,  "  or  perhaps  he  made  a 
mistake." 

But  Bessie  made  no  answer.  For  the  time,  at  any  rate, 
hope  had  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
FRANK  MULLER'S  FAMILIAR. 

THE  study  of  the  conflicting  elements  that  go  to  make 
up  a  character  like  Frank  Muller's,  however  fascinating  it 
might  prove,  is  not  one  that  can  be  attempted  in  detail 
here.  Such  a  character  in  its  developed  form  is  fortunate- 
ly practically  impossible  in  a  highly  -  civilized  country. 
The  dead  weight  of  the  law  would  crush  it  back  to  the 
level  of  the  human  mass  around  it.  But  those  who  have 
lived  in  the  wild  places  of  the  earth  will  be  acquainted 
with  its  prototypes,  more  especially  in  those  places  where 
a  handful  of  a  superior  race  rule  over  the  dense  thousands 
of  an  inferior.  Solitudes  are  favorable  to  the  production 
of  strongly-marked  individualities.  The  companionship 
of  highly-developed  men,  on  the  contrary,  whittles  indi- 
vidualities away;  the  difference  between  their  growth  be- 
ing the  difference  between  the  growth  of  a  tree  on  a  plain 
and  a  tree  in  the  forest.  On  the  plain  the  tree  takes  the 
innate  bent  of  its  nature.  It  springs  in  majesty  towards 
the  skies;  it  spreads  itself  around,  or  it  slants  along  the 
earth,  just  as  nature  intended  that  it  should,  and  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  power  of  the  providential  breath  that 
bends  it.  In  the  forest  it  is  different.  There  the  tree 
grows  towards  the  light,  wherever  the  light  may  be. 
Forced  to  modify  its  natural  habit  in  obedience  to  the 
pressure  of  circumstances  over  which  it  has  no  control,  it 
takes  such  form  and  height  as  its  neighbors  will  allow  to 
it,  all  its  energies  being  directed  to' the  preservation  of  life 
in  any  shape  and  at  any  sacrifice.  Thus  is  it  with  us  all. 


248  JESS. 

Left  to  ourselves,  or  surrounded  only  *by  the  scrub  of  hu- 
manity, we  become  outwardly  that  which  the  spirit  within 
would  fashion  us  to,  but,  placed  among  our  fellows,  shac- 
kled by  custom,  restrained  by  law,  pruned  and  bent  by  the 
force  of  public  opinion,  we  grow  as  like  one  to  another  as 
the  fruit-bushes  on  a  garden  wall.  The  sharp  angles  of 
our  characters  are  fretted  away  by  the  friction  of  the 
crowd,  and  we  become  round  and  polished,  and  superfi- 
cially, at  any  rate,  identical.  We  no  longer  resemble  a 
solitary  bowlder  on  a  plain,  but  are  as  a  stone  built  into 
the  great  edifice  of  civilized  society. 

The  place  of  a  man  like  Frank  Muller^s  at  the  junction 
of  the  waters  of  civilization  and  barbarism.  Too  civilized 
to  possess  those  savage  virtues  which,  such  as  they  are, 
represent  the  quantum  of  innate  good  Nature  has  thought 
fit  to  allow  in  the  mixture  man,  and  too  barbarous  to  be 
subject  to  the  tenderer  restraints  of  cultivated  society,  he 
is  at  once  strong  in  the  strength  of  both  and  weak  in  their 
weaknesses.  Animated  by  the  spirit  of  barbarism,  super- 
stition, and  almost  entirely  destitute  of  the  spirit  of  civiliza- 
tion, mercy,  he  stands  on  the  edge  of  both  and  an  affront 
to  both,  as  terrific  a  moral  spectacle  as  the  world  can  afford. 

Had  he  been  a  little  more  civilized,  with  his  power  of 
evil  trained  by  education  and  cynical  reflection  to  defy  the 
attacks  of  those  spasms  of  unreasoning  spiritual  terror  and 
unrestrainable  passion  that  have  their  natural  dwelling- 
place  in  the  raw,  strong  mind  of  uncultivated  man,  Frank 
Muller  might  have  broken  upon  the  world  as  a  Napoleon. 
Had  he  been  a  little  more  savage,  a  little  further  removed 
from  the  unconscious  but  present  influence  of  a  progressive 
race,  he  might  have  ground  his  fellows  down  and  ruthless- 
ly destroyed  them  in  the  madness  of  his  rage  and  lust,  like 
an  Attila  or  a  T'Chaka.  As  it  was,  he  was  buffeted  be- 
tween two  forces  he  did  not  realize,  even  when  they 
swayed  him,  and  thus  at  every  step  in  his  path  towards  a 
supremacy  of  evil  an  unseen  power  made  stumbling-blocks 


JESS.  249 

of  weaknesses  which,  if  that  path  had  been  laid  along  a 
little  higher  or  a  little  lower  level  in  the  scale  of  circum- 
stance, would  themselves  have  been  deadly  weapons  of 
overmastering  force. 

See  him,  as  with  his  dark  heart  filled  up  with  fears,  he 
thunders  along  from  the  scene  of  midnight  death  and  mur- 
der his  brain  had  not  feared  to  plan  and  his  hand  to  exe- 
cute. Onward  his  black  horse  strides,  companioned  by 
the  storm,  like  a  dark  thought  travelling  on  the  wings  of 
Night.  lie  does  not  believe  in  any  God,  and  yet  the  ter- 
rible fears  that  spring  up  in  his  soul,  born  fungus-like  from 
a  dew  of  blood,  take  shape  and  form,  and  seem  to  cry 
aloud,  "  We  are  tlie  messengers  of  the  avenging  God,"  He 
glances  up.  High  on  the  black  bosom  of  the  storm  the 
finger  of  the  lightning  is  writing  that  awful  name,  and 
again  and  again  the  voice  of  the  thunder  reads  it  out 
aloud  in  spirit-shaking  accents.  He  shuts  his  dazed  eyes, 
and  even  the  falling  rhythm  of  his  horse's  hoofs  beat  out 
"  There  is  a  God!  there  is  a  God!"  from  the  silent  earth 
on  which  they  strike. 

And  so,  on  through  the  tempest  and  the  night,  flying 
from  that  which  no  man  can  leave  behind. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Frank  Muller  drew  rein  at  a 
wrretched  mud  hut  perched  by  itself  on  the  banks  of  the 
Vaal,  and  flanked  on  its  rear  by  an  equally  miserable 
shed.  The  place  was  silent  as  the  grave;  not  even  a  dog 
barked. 

"  If  that  beast  of  a  Kaffir  is  not  here,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  I  will  have  him  flogged  to  death.  Hendrik!  Ilendrik!'' 

As  he  called,  a  form  rose  up  at  his  very  feet,  causing  the 
weary  horse  to  start  back  so  violently  that  he  almost  threw 
his  rider  to  the  ground. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  the  devil  are  you  ?"  almost 
shrieked  Frank  Muller,  whose  nerves,  indeed,  were  in  no 
condition  to  stand  fresh  shocks. 


250  JESS. 

"  It  is  me,  baas,"  said  the  form,  at  the  same  time  throw- 
ing off  a  gray  blanket  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  and  re- 
vealing the  villainous  countenance  of  the  one-eyed  witch- 
doctor who  had  taken  the  letter  to  Bessie,  and  who  had 
for  years  been  Muller's  body-servant,  and  followed  him 
about  like  a  dog. 

"  Curse  you,  you  dog  !  What  do  you  mean  by  hiding 
up  like  that?  It  is  one  of  your  infernal  tricks;  be  care- 
ful"— tapping  his  pistol-case — "or  I  shall  one  day  put  an 
end  to  you  and  your  witchcraft  together." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  baas,"  said  the  man,  in  a  whine,  "  but 
half  an  hour  ago  I  heard  you  coming.  I  don't  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  the  air  to-night,  but  it  sounded  as 
though  twenty  people  were  galloping  after  you.  I  could 
hear  them  all  quite  clear;  first  the  big  black  horse,  and 
then  all  those  who  came  after,  just  as  though  they  were 
hunting  you;  and  so  I  came  out  and  lay  down  to  listen, 
and  it  was  not  till  you  were  quite  close  that  one  by  one  the 
others  stopped.  Perhaps  it  was  the  devils  who  galloped." 

"Curse  you,  stop  that  wizard's  talk,"  said  Muller,  his 
teeth  chattering  with  fear  and  agitation.  "Take  the 
horse  and  clean  and  feed  him  well;  he  has  galloped  far, 
and  we  start  at  dawn.  Stop !  tell  me,  where  are  the  lights 
and  the  brandy  ?  If  you  have  drunk  the  brandy  I  will  flog 
you." 

"  They  are  on  the  shelf  on  the  left  as  you  go  in,  baas, 
and  there  is  flesh  there,  too,  and  bread." 

Muller  swung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  entered  the 
hut,  pushing  open  the  cranky,  broken-hinged  door  with  a 
kick.  He  found  the  box  of  Tandstickor  matches,  and,  af- 
ter one  or  two  false  shots — due  chiefly  to  his  shaking  hand 
— succeeded  in  getting  fire  and  lighting  a  coarse  dip  such 
as  the  Boers  make  out  of  mutton  fat.  Near  the  candle 
was  a  bottle  of  peach-brandy  two  thirds  full,  and  a  tin 
pannikin  and  a  jug  of  river  water.  Seizing  the  pannikin, 
he  filled  it  half-full  of  spirit,  added  a  little  water,  and 


JESS.  251 

drank  the  mixture  off.  Then  he  took  down  the  meat  and 
bread  from  the  same  shelf,  and,  cutting  some  of  each  off 
with  his  clasp-knife,  tried  to  eat.  But  he  could  not  eat 
much,  and  soon  gave  up  the  attempt,  consoling  himself 
instead  with  the  brandy. 

"  Bah  !"  he  said,  "  the  stuff  tastes  like  hell  fire;"  and  he 
filled  his  pipe  and  sat  smoking. 

Presently  Hendrik  came  in  to  say  that  the  horse  was 
eating  well,  and  was  about  to  go  again,  when  his  master 
beckoned  him  to  stop.  The  man  was  surprised,  for  Mul- 
ler  was  not  generally  fond  of  his  society,  except  when  he 
wanted  to  consult  him  or  get  him  to  exercise  his  pretend- 
ed art  of  divination;  but  the  fact  was  that  at  that  mo- 
ment Frank  Muller  would  have  been  glad  to  consort  with 
a  dog.  The  events  of  the  night  had  brought  this  terrible 
man,  steeped  in  iniquity  from  his  youth  up,  down  to  the 
level  of  a  child  frightened  at  the  dark.  For  a  while  he 
sat  in  silence,  the  Kaffir  squatted  on  the  ground  at  his 
feet.  Presently,  however,  the  doses  of  powerful  spirit 
took  effect  on  him,  and  he  began  to  talk  more  unguarded- 
ly than  was  his  custom,  even  with  his  black  "familiar," 
Hendrik. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?"  he  asked  of  his  re- 
tainer. 

'About  four  days,  baas." 

'  Did  you  take  my  letter  to  Om  Croft's  ?" 

'  Yah,  baas.     I  gave  it  to  the  missie." 

'  What  did  she  do  ?" 

'  She  read  it,  and  then  stood  like  this,  holding  on  to  the 
veranda  pole;"  and  he  opened  his  mouth  and  one  eye,  and 
twisted  up  his  hideous  countenance  into  a  ghastly  imita- 
tion of  Bessie's  sorrow-stricken  face,  catching  hold  of  one 
of  the  posts  that  supported  the  hut  to  assist  in  the  per- 
formance. 

"  So  she  believed  it  ?" 

"  Surely." 


252  JESS. 

"  What  did  she  do,  then  ?" 

"  She  set  the  dog  on  me.  Look  here  !  and  here  !  and 
here  !"  and  he  pointed  to  the  half -healed  scars  left  by 
Stomp's  sharp  fangs. 

Muller  laughed  a  little.  "  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
seen  him  worry  you,  you  black  cheat;  it  shows  her  spirit, 
too.  I  suppose  you  are  angry,  and  want  to  have  a  re- 
venge ?" 

"  Surely." 

"  Well,  who  knows?  Perhaps  you  shall;  we  are  going 
there  to-morrow." 

"  So,  baas  !     I  knew  that  before  you  told  me." 

"  We  are  going  there,  and  we  are  going  to  take  the 
place;  and  we  are  going  to  try  Uncle  Silas  by  court-mar- 
tial for  flying  an  English  flag,  and  if  he  is  found  guilty  we 
are  going  to  shoot  him,  Hendrik." 

"So,  baas,"  said  the  Kaffir,  rubbing  his  hands  in  glee; 
"but  will  he  be  found  guilty?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  murmured  the  white  man,  stroking  his 
golden  beard ;  "  that  will  depend  upon  what  missie  has  to 
say;  and  upon  the  verdict  of  the  court,"  he  added,  by  way 
of  an  afterthought. 

"  On  the  verdict  of  the  court,  ha  !  ha  !"  chuckled  his 
wicked  satellite.  "  On  the  verdict  of  the  court,  yes  !  yes  ! 
and  the  baas  will  be  president,  ha  !  ha  !  One  needs  no 
witchcraft  to  guess  the  verdict.  And  if  the  court  finds 
Uncle  Silas  guilty,  who  will  do  the  shooting,  baas  ?" 

"I  have  not  thought  of  that;  the  time  has  not  come  to 
think  of  it.  It  does  not  matter;  anybody  can  carry  out 
the  sentence  of  the  law." 

"  Baas,"  said  the  Kaffir,  "  I  have  done  much  for  you  and 
had  little  pay.  I  have  done  ugly  things.  I  have  read 
omens  and  made  medicines,  and  '  smelt  out '  your  enemies. 
Will  you  grant  me  a  favor  ?  Will  you  let  me  shoot  Om 
Croft  if  the  court  finds  him  guilty  ?  It  is  not  much  to 
ask,  baas.  I  am  a  clever  wizard,  and  deserve  my  pay." 


JESS.  •_'.-,:{ 

"  Why  do  you-  want  to  shoot  him  ?" 

"  Because  he  flogged  me  once,  years  ago,  for  being  a 
witch-doctor,  and  the  other  day  he  hunted  me  off  the  place. 
He-ides,  it  is  nice  to  shoot  a  white  man.  I  should  like  it 
better,"  he  went  on,  with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  "if  it  were 
missie,  who  set  the  dog  on  me.  I  would — " 

In  a  moment  Frank  Muller  had  the  astonished  ruffian 
by  the  throat,  and  was  kicking  and  shaking  him  as  though 
he  were  a  toy.  His  brutal  talk  of  Bessie  had  appealed  to 
such  manliness  as  he  had  in  him,  and,  whatever  his  own 
wickedness  may  have  been,  he  was  too  madly  in  love  with 
the  woman  to  let  her  name  be  taken  in  vain  by  a  man  whom, 
though  he  held  his  "  magic  "  in  superstitious  reverence,  he 
yet  ranked  lower  than  a  dog.  With  his  nerves  strung  to 
the  highest  possible  state  of  tension,  and  half  drunk  as  he 
was,  Frank  Muller  was  no  more  a  person  to  be  played  with 
or  irritated  than  a  mad  bull. 

"You  black  beast!"  he  yelled,  "if  you  ever  dare  to 
mention  her  name  again  like  that  I  will  kill  you,  for  all 
your  witchcraft;"  and  he  hurled  him  with  such  force  up 
against  the  wall  of  the  hut  that  the  whole  place  shook. 
The  man  fell,  lay  for  a  moment  groaning,  and  then  crept 
from  the  hut  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

Muller  sat  scowling  from  under  his  bent  brows  and 
watched  him  go.  When  he  was  gone  he  rose  and  fast- 
ened the  .door  behind  him,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into 
tears;  the  result,  no  doubt,  of  the  mingled  effects  of  the 
drink,  mental  and  physical  exhaustion,  and  the  never-rest- 
ing passion  (one  can  scarcely  call  it  love)  that  ate  away  at 
his  heart,  like  the  worm  that  dieth  not. 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  Bessie  !"  he  groaned,  "  I  have  done  it  all 
for  you.  Surely  you  cannot  be  angry  when  I  have  killed 
them  all  for  you?  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling  !  If  you 
only  knew  how  I  love  you  !  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling !" 
and  in  an  agony  of  passion  he  flung  himself  down  on  the 
rough  pallet  in  the  corner  of  the  hut  and  sobbed  himself 
to  sleep. 


254  JESS. 

Somehow  Frank  Muller's  evil  doing  did  not  make  him 
any  the  happier,  the  fact  of  the  matter  being  that  to  enjoy 
wickedness  a  man  must  be  not  only  without  conscience, 
but  also  without  passion.  Now  Frank  Muller  was  tor- 
mented with  a  very  effective  substitute  for  the  first,  su- 
perstition, and  his  life  was  literally  overshadowed  by  the 
last,  for  the  beauty  of  a  girl  possessed  the  power  to  domi- 
nate his  wildest  moods  and  inflict  upon  him  torments  that 
she  herself  was  incapable  of  even  imagining. 

At  the  first  light  of  dawn  Hendrik  crept  humbly  into 
the  hut  and  woke  his  master,  and  within  half  an  hour 
they  were  across  the  Vaal  and  on  the  road  to  Wakker- 
stroom. 

As  the  light  increased  so  did  Muller's  spirits  rise,  till  at 
last,  when  the  red  sun  came  up  in  glory  and  swept  away 
the  shadows,  he  felt  as  though  all  the  load  of  guilt  and 
fear  that  lay  at  his  heart  had  departed  with  them.  He 
could  see  now  that  the  two  Boers  being  killed  by  a  flash 
of  lightning  was  a  mere  accident — a  happy  accident  in- 
deed; for,  had  it  not  been  for  that,  he  himself  would  have 
had  to  kill  them,  if  he  could  not  by  any  other  means  have 
got  the  warrant  from  them.  As  it  was  he  had  forgotten 
the  warrant;  but  it  did  not  matter  much,  he  reflected. 
Nobody  would  be  likely  to  find  the  bodies  of  the  two  men 
and  horses  under  the  lonely  bank  there.  Certainly  they 
would  not  be  found  till  the  aasvogels  had  picked  them 
clean.  They  would  be  at  work  upon  them  by  now.  And 
if  they  were  found  it  was  probable  that  the  paper  would 
have  rotted  or  blown  away,  or,  at  the  worst,  be  so  discol- 
ored as  to  be  unreadable.  For  the  rest,  there  was  nothing 
to  connect  him  with  the  murder,  now  that  the  two  acces- 
sories were  dead.  Hendrik  would  prove  an  alibi  for  him. 
He  was  a  useful  man,  Hendrik.  Besides,  who  would  be- 
lieve that  it  was  a  murder?  Two  men  were  escorting  an 
Englishman  to  the  river;  somehow  they  became  involved 
in  a  quarrel;  the  Englishman  shot  them,  and  they  shot  the 


JESS.  255 

Englishman  and  his  companion.  Then  the  horses  plunged 
into  the  Vaal  and  upset  the  cart,  and  there  was  an  end  of 
it.  He  could  see  now  how  well  things  had  gone  for  him. 
He  was  practically  placed  beyond  suspicion. 

And  then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  fruits  of  his  honest 
labors,  and  his  cheek  grew  warm  with  the  mounting  blood, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  with  the  fire  of  youth.  In  two  days 
— forty-eight  hours — at  the  outside,  Bessie  would  be  in 
his  arms.  He  could  not  miscarry  now;  he  was  in  absolute 
command  there.  Besides,  Hendrik  had  read  it  in  his 
omens  long  ago.*  Mooifontein  should  be  stormed  on  the 
morrow  if  that  were  necessary,  and  Om  Silas  Croft  and 
Bessie  should  be  taken  prisoners;  and  then  he  knew  how  to 
put  on  the  screw.  That  talk  about  shooting  on  the  previ- 
ous night  had  been  no  idle  threat.  She  should  yield  her- 
self to  him  or  the  old  man  should  die,  and  then  he  would 
take  her.  There  could  be  no  legal  consequences  from 
that  now  that  the  British  government  was  surrendering. 
It  would  be  a  meritorious  act  to  shoot  a  rebel  English- 
man. 

Yes,  it  was  all  plain  sailing  now.  How  long  had  it  taken 
him  to  win  her — three  years  ?  He  had  loved  her  for  three 
years.  Well,  he  would  have  his  reward;  and  then,  his 
mind  at  rest  about  his  passion,  he  would  turn  it  to  those 
far-reaching,  ambitious  schemes  of  which  the  end  was 
something  like  a  throne. 

*  It  is  by  no  means  a  very  rare  thing  to  meet  white  men  in  South  Africa 
who  believe  more  or  less  in  the  efficacy  of  native  witchcraft,  and  who,  al- 
though such  a  proceeding  is  forbidden  by  law,  will  at  a  pinch  not  hesitate 
to  consult  the  witch-doctors  themselves,  especially  when  they  are  desirous 
of  discovering  some  lost  article. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

SILAS     IS     CONVINCED. 

AT  first  Bessie  was  utterly  prostrated  by  the  blow  that 
had  fallen  on  her,  but  as  time  went  on  she  revived  a  little, 
for  hers  was  a  sanguine  nature  with  a  great  deal  of  elas- 
ticity about  it.  Troubles  sink  into  the  souls  of  some  like 
water  into  a  sponge,  and  weigh  them  down  almost  to  the 
grave.  From  others  they  run  off  as  the  water  would  if 
poured  upon  marble,  merely  wetting  the  surface.  She  was 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  of  these,  but  rather  of  a  sub- 
stance between  the  two — a  healthy,  happy-hearted  woman, 
full  of  beauty  and  vigor,  made  to  bloom  in  the  sunshine, 
not  to  languish  in  the  shadow  of  some  old  grief.  Women 
of  her  stamp  do  not  die  of  broken  hearts  or  condemn  them- 
selves to  lifelong  celibacy  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  shade  of  the 
departed.  If  No.  1  is  unfortunately  removed,  they,  as  a 
general  rule,  shed  many  a  tear  and  suffer  many  a  pang, 
and  after  a  decent  interval  very  sensibly  turn  their  atten- 
tion to  No.  2. 

Still  it  was  a  very  pale-faced,  quiet  Bessie  who  went  to 
and  fro  about  the  place  after  the  visit  of  the  one-eyed 
Kaffir.  All  her  irritability  had  left  her  now;  she  no  long- 
er jumped  down  her  uncle's  throat  about  his  having  de- 
spatched John  to  Pretoria.  Indeed,  on  that  very  evening 
after  the  evil  tidings  came,  he  began  to  reproach  himself 
bitterly  in  her  presence  for  having  sent  her  lover  away, 
when  she  stopped  him. 

"  It  is  God's  will,  uncle,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  You  only 
did  what  it  was  ordained  that  you  should  do."  And  then 


JESS.  257 

she  came  and  laid  her  sunny  head  upon  the  old  man's 
shoulder  and  cried  a  little,  and  said  that  they  two  were  all 
alone  in  the  world  now;  and  he  comforted  her  in  the  best 
fashion  that  he  could.  It  was  a  curious  thing  that  they 
neither  of  them  thought  much  of  Jess  when  they  talked 
thus  about  being  alone.  Jess  was  an  enigma,  a  thing 
apart  even  from  them.  When  she  was  there  she  was  loved 
and  allowed  to  go  her  own  way;  when  she  was  not  there 
she  seemed  to  fade  into  outer  darkness.  A  wall  came 
down  between  her  and  her  belongings.  Of  course  they 
were  both  very  fond  of  her,  but  simple-natured  people  are 
apt  to  shrink  involuntarily  from  what  they  cannot  under- 
stand, and  these  two  were  no  exception.  For  instance, 
Bessie's  affection  for  her  sister  was  a  poor  thing  compared 
to  the  deep  and  self-sacrificing,  though  often  secret,  love 
that  her  sister  showered  upon  her.  She  loved  her  old  un- 
cle far  more  dearly  than  she  did  Jess,  and  it  must  be  owned 
that  he  returned  the  compliment  with  interest,  and  in  those 
days  of  heavy  trouble  they  drew  nearer  to  each  other  even 
than  before. 

But  as  time  went  on  they  both  began  to  hope  again. 
No  further  news  of  John's  death  reached  them.  Was  it 
not  possible,  after  all,  that  the  whole  story  was  an  inven- 
tion? They  knew  that  Frank  Muller  was  not  a  man  to 
hesitate  at  a  lie  if  he  had  a  purpose  to  gain,  and  they  could 
guess  in  this  case  what  the  purpose  was.  His  furious  pas- 
sion for  Bessie  was  no  secret  from  either  of  them,  and  it 
struck  them  as  at  least  possible  that  the  tale  of  John's 
death  might  have  been  invented  to  forward  it.  It  was 
not  probable,  more  especially  as  he  was  not  present  to 
urge  his  suit,  but  it  was  possible,  and  however  cruel  sus- 
pense may  be,  it  is  at  least  less  absolutely  crushing  than 
the  dead  weight  of  certainty. 

On  Sunday — it  was  just  a  week  after  the  letter  came — 
Bessie  was  sitting  after  dinner  on  the  veranda,  when  her 
quick  ears  caught  what  she  took  to  be  the  booming  of 
17 


258  JESS. 

heavy  guns  far  away  on  the  Drakensberg.  She  rose,  and, 
leaving  the  house,  climbed  the  hill  behind  it.  On  reach- 
ing the  top  she  stood  and  looked  at  the  great  solemn  stretch 
of  mountains.  Away,  a  little  to  her  right,  was  a  square, 
precipitous  peak  called  Majuba,  which  was  generally 
clothed  in  clouds.  To-day,  however,  there  was  no  mist, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  from  the  direction  of  this 
peak  that  the  faint  rolling  sounds  came  floating  on  the 
breeze.  But  she  could  see  nothing;  the  mountain  seemed 
as  tenantless  and  devoid  of  life  as  the  day  when  it  first 
towered  up  upon  the  face  of  things  created.  Presently 
the  sound  died  away,  and  she  returned,  thinking  that  she 
must  have  been  deceived  by  the  echoes  of  some  distant 
thunderstorm. 

Next  day  they  learned  from  the  natives  that  what  she 
had  heard  was  the  sound  of  the  big  guns  covering  the 
flight  of  the  British  troops  down  the  precipitous  sides  of 
Majuba  Mountain.  After  this  old  Silas  Croft  began  to 
lose  heart  a  little.  The  run  of  disaster  was  so  unrelieved 
that  even  his  robust  faith  in  the  invincibility  of  the  Eng- 
lish arms  was  shaken. 

"  It  is  very  strange,  Bessie,"  he  said,  "very  strange;  but, 
never  mind,  it  is  bound  to  come  right  at  last.  Our  gov- 
ernment is  not  going  to  knock  under  because  they  have 
suffered  a  few  reverses." 

Then  came  a  long  four  weeks  of  uncertainty.  The  air 
was  thick  with  rumors,  most  of  them  brought  by  natives, 
one  or  two  by  passing  Boers,  to  which,  however,  Silas 
Croft  declined  to  pay  any  attention.  Soon  it  became 
abundantly  clear,  however,  that  an  armistice  was  con- 
cluded between  the  English  and  the  Boers,  but  what  were 
its  terms  or  its  object  they  were  quite  unable  to  decide. 
Silas  Croft  thought  that  the  Boers,  overawed  by  the  ad- 
vance of  an  overwhelming  force,  meant  to  give  in  without 
further  fighting;  but  Bessie  shook  her  head. 

One  day — it  was  the  same  on  which  John  and  Jess  had 


JESS.  250 

left  Pretoria — a  Kaffir  brought  news  that  the  armistice 
was  at  an  end,  that  the  English  were  advancing  up  to  the 
Nek  in  thousands,  and  were  going  to  force  it  on  the  mor- 
row and  relieve  the  garrisons — a  piece  of  intelligence  that 
brought  some  of  the  old  light  back  to  Bessie's  eyes.  As 
for  her  uncle,  he  was  jubilant. 

"  The  tide  is  going  to  turn  at  last,  my  love,"  he  said, 
"  and  we  shall  have  our  innings.  Well,  it  is  time  we 
should,  after  all  the  shame  and  loss  and  agony  of  mind 
we  have  gone  through.  Upon  my  word,  for  the  last  two 
months  I  have  been  ashamed  to  call  myself  an  English- 
man. However,  there  is  an  end  of  it  now.  I  knew  that 
they  would  never  give  in  and  desert  us,"  and  the  old  man 
straightened  his  crooked  back  and  slapped  his  chest,  and 
looked  as  proud  and  gallant  as  though  he  were  five-and- 
twenty  instead  of  seventy. 

The  rest  of  that  day  passed  without  any  further  news, 
and  so  did  the  following  two,  but  on  the  next,  which  was 
March  23,  the  storm  broke. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  Bessie  was  em- 
ployed upon  her  household  duties  as  usual,  or  rather  she 
had  just  finished  them.  Her  uncle  had  returned  from 
making  his  after-breakfast  round  upon  the  farm,  and  was 
standing  in  the  sitting-room,  his  broad  felt  hat  in  one 
hand  and  a  red  pocket-handkerchief  in  the  other,  with 
which  he  was  polishing  his  bald  head,  while  he  chatted  to 
Bessie  through  the  open  door. 

"  No  news  of  the  advance,  Bessie  dear  ?" 

"  No,  uncle,"  she  replied,  with  a  sigh,  and  her  blue  eyes 
filling  with  tears,  for  she  was  thinking  of  one  of  whom 
there  was  also  no  news. 

"  Well,  never  mind.  These  things  take  a  little  time, 
especially  with  our  soldiers,  who  move  so  slowly.  I  dare 
say  that  there  was  some  delay  waiting  for  guns  or  ammu- 
nition or  something.  I  expect  that  we  shall  hear  some- 
thing by  to-night — " 


260  JESS. 

He  got  as  far  as  this,  when  suddenly  the  figure  of  Jantj6 
appeared,  flying  up  the  passage  in  the  extremity  of  terror 
and  haste. 

"  De  Booren,  baas,  de  Booren  !"  (The  Boers,  master,  the 
Boers)  he  shouted.  "The  Boers  are  coming  with  a  wagon, 
twenty  of  them  or  more,  with  Frank  Muller  at  their  head 
on  his  black  horse,  and  Hans  Coetzee,  and  the  wizard  with 
one  eye  with  him.  I  was  hiding  behind  a  tree  at  the  end 
of  the  avenue,  and  I  saw  them  coming  over  the  rise.  They 
are  going  to  take  the  place,"  and,  without  waiting  to  give 
any  further  explanations,  he  slipped  through  the  house 
and  hid  himself  up  somewhere  at  the  back  out  of  the  way, 
for  Jantje,  like  most  Hottentots,  was  a  sad  coward. 

The  old  man  stopped  rubbing  his  head  and  stared  at 
Bessie,  who  was  standing  pale  and  trembling  in  the  door- 
way. Just  then  he  heard  the  patter  of  running  feet  on 
the  drive  outside,  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was 
caused  by  the  passing  of  some  half-dozen  Kaffirs  who  were 
working  on  the  place,  and  who,  on  catching  sight  of  the 
Boers,  had  promptly  thrown  down  their  tools  and  were 
flying  to  the  hills.  Even  as  they  passed  a  shot  was  fired 
somewhere  from  the  direction  of  the  avenue,  and  the  last 
of  the  Kaffirs,  a  lad  of  about  twelve,  suddenly  threw  up 
his  hands  and  pitched  forward  on  to  his  face,  with  a  bullet 
between  his  shoulder-blades. 

Bessie  heard  the  shout  of  "  Good  shot,  good  shot !"  and 
the  brutal  laughter  that  greeted  his  fall,  and  the  tramping 
of  the  horses  as  they  came  up  the  drive. 

"  Oh,  uncle  !"  she  said,  "  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

The  old  man  made  no  answer  at  the  moment,  but  going 
to  a  rack  upon  the  wall,  reached  down  a  Westley-Richards 
falling-block  rifle  that  hung  there.  Then  he  sat  down  in 
a  wooden  arm-chair  that  faced  the  French  window  open- 
ing on  to  the  veranda,  and  beckoned  to  her  to  come  to 
him. 

"  We  will  meet  them  so,"  he  said.     "  They  shall  see 


JESS.  261 

that  we  are  not  afraid  of  them.  Don't  be  frightened, 
dear,  they  will  not  dare  to  harm  us;  they  will  be  afraid 
of  the  consequences  of  harming  English  people." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  the 
cavalcade  began  to  appear  in  front  of  the  window,  led,  as 
Jantje  had  said,  by  Frank  Muller  on  his  black  horse,  ac- 
companied by  Hans  Coetzee  on  the  fat  pony,  and  the  vil- 
lainous-looking Hendrik  mounted  on  a  nondescript  sort 
of  animal,  and  carrying  a  gun  and  an  assegai  in  his  hand. 
Behind  these  were  a  body  of  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  armed 
men,  among  whom  Silas  Croft  recognized  most  of  his 
neighbors,  by  whose  side  he  had  lived  for  years  in  peace 
and  amity. 

Opposite  the  house  they  stopped  and  began  looking 
about.  They  could  not  see  into  the  room  at  once,  on  ac- 
count of  the  bright  light  outside  and  the  shadow  within. 

"  I  fancy  you  will  find  the  birds  flown,  nephew,"  said 
the  fat  voice  of  Hans  Coetzee.  "  They  have  got  warning 
of  your  little  visit." 

"  They  cannot  be  far,"  answered  Muller.  "  I  have  had 
them  watched,  and  know  that  they  have  not  left  the  place. 
Get  down,  uncle,  and  look  in  the  house,  and  you  too,  Hen- 
drik." 

The  Kaffir  obeyed  with  alacrity,  tumbling  out  of  his 
saddle  with  all  the  grace  of  a  sack  of  coals,  but  the  Boer 
hesitated. 

"  Uncle  Silas  is  an  angry  man,"  he  ventured;  "  he  might 
shoot  if  he  found  me  poking  about  his  house." 

"  Don't  answer  me  !"  thundered  Muller;  "  get  down  and 
do  as  I  bid  you  !" 

"  Ah,  what  a  devil  of  a  man  !"  murmured  the  unfortu- 
nate Hans  as  he  hurried  to  obey. 

Meanwhile  Hendrik  the  one-eyed  had  jumped  upon  the 
veranda  and  was  peering  through  the  windows. 

"  Here  they  are,  baas  ;  here  they  are  !"  he  sang  out ;" 
"  the  old  cock  and  the  pullet,  too  !"  and  he  gave  a  kick  to 


262  JESS. 

the  window,  which,  being  unlatched,  swung  wide  open, 
revealing  the  old  man  sitting  there  in  his  wooden  arm- 
chair with  Bessie  standing  at  his  side,  his  rifle  on  his  knees, 
and  holding  his  fair-haired  niece  by  the  hand.  Frank 
Muller  dismounted  and  came  on  to  the  veranda,  and  be- 
hind him  crowded  up  a  dozen  or  more  of  his  followers. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want,  Frank  Muller,  that  you 
come  to  my  house  with  all  these  armed  men  ?"  asked  Silas 
Croft  from  his  chair. 

"  I  call  upon  you,  Silas  Croft,  to  surrender  to  take  your 
trial  as  a  land  betrayer  and  a  rebel  against  the  republic," 
was  the  answer.  "  I  am  sorry,"  he  added,  with  a  bow 
towards  Bessie,  on  whom  his  eyes  had  been  fixed  all  the 
time,  "  to  be  obliged  to  take  you  prisoner  in  the  presence 
of  a  lady,  but  my  duty  gives  me  no  choice." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I 
am  a  subject  of  Queen  Victoria  and  an  Englishman.  How, 
then,  can  I  be  a  rebel  against  any  republic?  I  am  an 
Englishman,  I  say,"  he  went  on  with  rising  anger,  speak- 
ing so  high  that  his  powerful  voice  rang  until  every  Boer 
there  could  hear  it,  "  and  I  acknowledge  the  authority  of 
no  republics.  This  is  my  house,  and  I  order  you  to  leave 
it.  I  claim  my  rights  as  an  Englishman — " 

"  Here,"  interrupted  Muller,  coldly,  "  Englishmen  have 
no  rights,  except  such  as  we  choose  to  allow  to  them." 

"  Shoot  him  !"  cried  a  voice. 

"  Treat  him  as  Buskes  treated  Van  der  Linden  at  Pot- 
chefstroom  !"  cried  another. 

"  Yes,  make  him  swallow  the  same  pill  that  we  gave  to 
Dr.  Barber,"  put  in  a  third. 

"  Silas  Croft,  are  you  going  to  surrender  ?"  asked  Muller, 
in  the  same  cold  voice. 

"JVb/"  thundered  the  old  man  in  his  English  pride.  "I 
surrender  to  no  rebels  in  arms  against  the  queen.  I  will 
shoot  the  first  man  who  tries  to  lay  a  finger  on  me  !"  and 
he  rose  to  his  feet  and  lifted  his  rifle. 


JESS.  263 

"  Shall  I  shoot  him,  baas  ? — shall  I  shoot  him  ?"  asked 
the  one-eyed  Hendrik,  smacking  his  lips  at  the  thought, 
and  fiddling  with  the  rusty  lock  of  the  old  fowling-piece 
he  carried. 

Muller,  by  way  of  answer,  struck  him  across  the  face 
with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  Hans  Coetzee,"  he  said,  "  go 
and  arrest  that  man." 

Poor  Hans  hesitated,  as  well  he  might.  Nature  had  not 
endowed  him  with  any  great  amount  of  natural  courage, 
and  the  sight  of  his  old  neighbor's  rifle-barrel  made  him 
feel  positively  sick.  He  hesitated  and  began  to  stammer 
excuses. 

"Are  you  going,  uncle,  or  must  I  denounce  you  to  the 
general  as  a  sympathizer  with  Englishmen  ?"  asked  Muller, 
in  malice,  for  he  knew  the  old  fellow's  weaknesses  and 
cowardice,  and  was  playing  on  them. 

"  I  am  going.  Of  course  I  am  going,  nephew.  Excuse 
me,  a  little  faintness  took  me — the  heat  of  the  sun,"  he 
babbled.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  am  going  to  seize  the  rebel.  Per- 
haps one  of  those  young  men  would  not  mind  engaging 
his  attention  on  the  other  side.  He  is  an  angry  man — I 
know  him  of  old — and  an  angry  man  with  a  gun,  you 
know,  dear  nephew — * 

"  Are  you  going  ?''  said  his  terrible  master  once  more. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  certainly,  yes.  Dear  Uncle  Silas,  pray  put 
down  that  gun,  it  is  so  dangerous.  Don't  stand  there 
looking  like  a  wild  ox,  but  come  up  to  the  yoke.  You 
are  old,  Uncle  Silas,  and  I  don't  want  to  have  to  hurt 
you.  Come  now,  come,  come,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand 
towards  him  as  though  he  were  a  shy  horse  that  he  was 
endeavoring  to  beguile. 

"Hans  Coetzee,  traitor  and  liar  that  you  are,"  said  the 
old  man,  "if  you  come  a  single  step  nearer,  by  God!  I 
will  put  a  bullet  through  you  !" 

"  Go  on,  Hans;  chuck  a  reim  over  his  head;  get  him  by 
the  tail;  knock  him  down  with  a  yokeskei;  turn  the  old 


264  JESS. 

bull  on  his  back  !"  shouted  the  crowd  of  scoffers  from  the 
window,  taking  very  good  care,  however,  to  clear  off  to 
the  right  and  left  in  order  to  leave  room  for  the  expected 
bullet. 

Hans  positively  burst  into  tears,  and  Muller,  who  was 
the  only  one  who  held  his  ground,  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  putting  out  all  his  strength,  swung  him  towards  Silas 
Croft. 

For  reasons  of  his  own,  he  was  anxious  that  the  latter 
should  shoot  one  of  them,  and  he  chose  Hans  Coetzee, 
whom  he  disliked  and  despised,  for  the  sacrifice. 

Up  went  the  rifle,  and  at  that  moment  Bessie,  who  had 
been  standing  bewildered,  made  a  dash  at  it,  knowing  that 
bloodshed  could  only  make  matters  worse.  As  she  did  so 
it  exploded,  but  not  before  she  had  shaken  her  uncle's 
arm,  for  instead  of  killing  Hans,  as  it  undoubtedly  would 
otherwise  have  done,  the  bullet  only  cut  his  ear  and  then 
passed  out  through  the  open  window-place.  In  an  instant 
the  room  was  filled  with  smoke.  Hans  Coetzee  clapped 
his  hand  to  his  head,  and  commenced  to  yell  with  pain 
and  terror,  and  in  the  confusion  that  ensued  three  or  four 
men,  headed  by  the  Kaffir  Hendrik,  rushed  into  the  room 
and  sprang  upon  Silas  Croft,  who  had  retreated  to  the 
wall  and  was  standing  with  his  back  against  it,  his  rifle, 
which  he  had  clubbed  in  both  his  hands,  raised  above  his 
head. 

When  his  assailants  got  close  to  him  they  hesitated, 
for,  aged  and  bent  as  he  was,  the  old  man  looked  like 
mischief.  He  stood  there  like  a  lion,  and  swung  the  rifle- 
stock  about.  Presently  one  of  the  men  struck  at  him  and 
missed  him,  but  before  he  could  retreat  Silas  brought 
down  the  stock  of  his  rifle  on  his  head,  and  down  he  went 
like  an  ox  beneath  a  poleaxe.  Then  they  closed  on  him, 
but  for  a  while  he  kept  them  off,  knocking  down  another 
man  in  his  efforts.  As  he  did  so,  the  witch-doctor  Hen- 
drik, who  had  been  watching  for  his  opportunity,  brought 


JESS.  265 

down  the  barrel  of  his  old  fowling-piece  upon  Silas's  bald 
head  and  felled  him.  Fortunately  the  blow  was  not  a 
very  heavy  one,  or  it  would  have  caved  his  skull  in.  As 
it  was,  it  only  cut  his  head  open  and  knocked  him  down. 
Thereon  the  whole  mass  of  Boers,  with  the  exception  of 
Muller,  who  was  standing  watching,  seeing  that  he  was 
now  defenceless,  fell  upon  him,  and  would  have  kicked 
him  to  death  had  not  Bessie  precipitated  herself  upon  him 
with  a  cry,  and  thrown  her  arms  about  him  to  protect 
him. 

Then  Frank  Muller  interfered,  fearing  lest  she  should 
be  hurt.  Plunging  into  the  fray  with  a  curse,  he  exer- 
cised his  great  strength,  throwing  the  men  this  way  and 
that  like  ninepins,  and  finally  dragging  Silas  to  his  feet 
again. 

"Come  !"  he  shouted,  "take  him  out  of  this;"  and  ac- 
cordingly, with  taunts  and  obloquy,  the  poor  old  man, 
whose  fringe  of  white  locks  was  red  with  blood,  was 
kicked  and  dragged  and  pushed  on  to  the  veranda,  then 
off  it  on  to  the  drive,  where  he  fell  over  the  body  of  the 
murdered  Kaffir  boy,  and  finally  hauled  up  to  the  open 
space  by  the  flagstaff,  on  which  the  Union  Jack,  that  he 
had  planted  there  some  two  months  before,  still  waved 
bravely  in  the  breeze.  Here  he  sank  down  upon  the  grass, 
his  back  against  the  flagstaff,  and  asked  faintly  for  some 
water.  Bessie,  who  was  weeping  bitterly,  and  whose  heart 
felt  as  though  it  were  bursting  with  anguish  and  indigna- 
tion, pushed  her  way  through  the  men,  and,  running  to 
the  house,  got  some  in  a  glass  and  brought  it  to  him.  One 
of  the  brutes  tried  to  knock  it  out  of  her  hand,  but  she 
avoided  him  and  gave  it  to  her  uncle,  who  drank  it  greed- 

%. 

"  Thank  you,  love,  thank  you,"  he  said;  "  don't  be  fright- 
ened, I  ain't  much  hurt.  Ah  !  if  only  John  had  been  here, 
and  we  had  had  an  hour's  notice,  we  would  have  held  the 
place  against  them  all." 


266  JESS. 

Meanwhile  one  of  the  Boers,  getting  on  the  shoulders 
of  another,  had  succeeded  in  untying  the  cord  on  which 
the  Union  Jack  was  bent  and  hauling  it  down.  Then  they 
reversed  it  and  hoisted  it  half-mast  high,  and  began  to 
cheer  for  the  republic. 

"  Perhaps  Uncle  Silas  does  not  know  that  we  are  a 
republic  again  now,"  said  one  of  the  men,  a  near  neighbor 
of  his  own,  in  mockery. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  republic?"  asked  the  old 
man.  "  The  Transvaal  is  a  British  colony." 

There  was  a  hoot  of  derision  at  this.  "  The  English 
government  has  surrendered,"  said  the  same  man.  "  The 
country  is  given  up,  and  the  British  are  to  evacuate  it  in 
six  months." 

"  It  is  a  lie  !"  said  Silas,  springing  to  his  feet,  "  a  cow- 
ardly lie !  Whoever  says  that  the  English  have  given  up 
the  country  to  a  few  thousand  blackguards  like  you,  and 
deserted  its  subjects  and  the  loyals  and  the  natives,  is  a 
liar — a  liar  from  hell !" 

There  was  another  howl  of  mockery  at  this  outburst, 
and  when  it  had  subsided  Frank  Muller  stepped  forward. 

"It  is  no  lie,  Silas  Croft,"  he  said;  "and  the  cowards 
are  not  we  Boers,  who  have  beaten  you  again  and  again, 
but  your  soldiers,  who  have  done  nothing  but  run  away, 
and  your  government,  that  follows  the  example  of  your 
soldiers.  Look  here" — and  he  took  a  paper  out  of  his 
pocket — "you  know  that  signature,  I  suppose;  it  is  that 
of  one  of  the  triumvirate.  Listen  to  what  he  says,"  and 
he  read  aloud: 

"  WELL  -  BELOVED  HEER  MULLER,  —  This  is  to  inform 
you  that,  by  the  strength  of  our  arms  fighting  for  the  right 
and  freedom,  and  also  by  the  cowardice  of  the  British 
government,  generals,  and  soldiers,  we  have  by  the  will  of 
the  Almighty  concluded  this  day  a  glorious  peace  with 
the  enemy.  The  British  government  surrenders  nearly 
everything  except  in  the  name.  The  republic  is  to  be  re- 


JESS.  267 

established,  and  the  soldiers  who  are  left  will  leave  the 
land  within  six  months.  Make  this  known  to  every  one, 
and  forget  not  to  thank  God  for  our  glorious  victories." 

The  Boers  shouted  aloud,  as  well  they  might,  and  Bessie 
wrung  her  hands.  As  for  the  old  man,  he  leaned  against 
the  flagstaff,  and  his  gory  head  sank  upon  his  breast  as 
though  he  were  about  to  faint.  Then  suddenly  he  lifted 
it,  and,  with  clinched  and  quivering  fists  held  high  in  the 
air,  broke  out  into  such  a  torrent  of  blasphemy  and  curs- 
ing that  even  the  Boers  fell  back  for  a  moment,  dismayed 
into  silence  by  the  force  of  the  fury  wrung  from  his  utter 
humiliation.  . 

It  was  an  appalling  sight  to  see  this  good  and  God-fear- 
ing old  man,  his  face  bruised,  his  gray  hairs  dabbled  with 
blood,  and  his  clothes  nearly  rent  from  his  body,  stamp  and 
reel  to  and  fro,  blaspheming  his  Maker,  and  the  day  that 
he  was  born;  hurling  execrations  at  his  beloved  country 
and  the  name  of  Englishman  and  the  government  that 
had  deserted  him,  till  at  last  nature  gave  out,  and  he  fell 
in  a  fit,  there,  in  the  very  shadow  of  his  dishonored  flag. 


CHAPTER  XXVIH. 

BESSIE    IS    PUT   TO    THE    QUESTION. 

MEANWHILE  another  little  tragedy  was  being  enacted 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  After  the  one-eyed  witch-doc- 
tor Hendrik  had  knocked  Silas  Croft  down  and  assisted  in 
the  pleasing  operation  of  dragging  him  to  the  flagstaff,  it 
had  occurred  to  his  villainous  heart  that  the  present  would 
be  a  good  opportunity  to  profit  personally  by  the  confu- 
sion, and  possibly  to  add  to  the  Englishman's  misfortunes 
by  doing  him  some  injury  on  his  own  account.  Accord- 
ingly, just  before  Frank  Muller  began  to  read  the  despatch 
announcing  the  English  surrender,  he  slipped  away  into 
the  house,  which  was  now  totally  deserted,  to  see  what 
he  could  steal.  Passing  into  the  sitting-room,  he  annexed 
Bessie's  gold  watch  and  chain,  which  was  lying  on  the 
mantelpiece,  a  present  that  her  uncle  had  made  her  on  the 
Christmas  Day  before  the  last.  Having  pocketed  this  he 
proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  where  there  was  a  goodly  store 
of  silver  forks  and  spoons  that  Bessie  had  been  engaged 
in  cleaning  that  morning,  lying  on  the  dresser  ready  to 
be  put  away.  These  he  also  transferred,  to  the  extent  of 
several  dozens,  to  the  capacious  pockets  of  the  tattered 
military  great-coat  that  he  wore.  While  doing  so  he  was 
much  disturbed  by  the  barking  of  the  dog  Stomp,  the 
same  animal  that  had  mauled  him  so  severely  a  few  weeks 
before,  and  who  was  now,  as  it  happened,  tied  up  in  his 
kennel — an  old  wine-barrel — just  outside  the  kitchen  door. 
Hendrik  peeped  out  of  the  window,  and,  having  ascer- 
tained that  the  dog  was  secured,  proceeded,  with  a  diabol- 


JESS.  269 

ical  chuckle,  to  settle  his  account  with  the  poor  animal. 
He  had  left  his  gun  behind  on  the  grass,  but  he  still  held 
his  assegai  in  his  hand,  and,  going  out  of  the  kitchen  door 
with  it,  he  showed  himself  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ken- 
nel. The  dog  recognized  him  instantly,  and  went  nearly 
mad  with  fury,  making  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  break 
.its  chain  and  get  at  him.  For  some  moments  he  stood  ex- 
citing the  animal  by  derisive  gestures  and  pelting  it  with 
stones,  till  at  last,  fearing  that  the  clamor  would  attract 
attention,  he  suddenly  transfixed  it  with  his  spear,  and 
then,  thinking  that  he  was  quite  unobserved,  sat  down 
and  snuffed  and  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  watching  the  poor 
beast's  last  agonies. 

But,  as  it  happened,  he  was  not  quite  alone,  for,  creep- 
ing along  in  the  grass  and  rubbish  that  grew  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  the  wall,  his  brown  body  squeezed  tightly 
against  the  brown  stones — so  tightly  that  an  unpractised 
eye  would  certainly  have  failed  to  observe  it  at  a  distance 
of  a  dozen  paces — was  the  Hottentot  Jantje.  Occasion- 
ally, too,  he  would  lift  his  head  above  the  level  of  the 
wall  and  observe  the  proceedings  of  the  one-eyed  man. 
Apparently  he  was  undecided  what  to  do,  for  he  hesitated 
a  little,  and  while  he  did  so  Hendrik  killed  the  dog. 

Now  Jantje  had  all  a  Hottentot's  natural  love  for  ani- 
mals, which  is,  generally  speaking,  as  marked  as  is  the 
Kaffir's  callousness  towards  them,  and  he  was  particularly 
fond  of  the  dog  Stomp,  which  always  went  out  walking 
with  him  on  those  rare  occasions  when  he  thought  it  safe 
or  desirable  to  walk  like  an  ordinary  man,  instead  of  creep- 
ing from  bush  to  bush  like  a  panther,  or  wriggling  through 
the  grass  like  a  snake.  The  sight  of  the  animal's  death, 
therefore,  raised  in  his  black  breast  a  very  keen  desire  for 
vengeance  on  the  murderer,  if  vengeance  could  be  safely 
accomplished;  and  he  paused  to  reflect  if  this  could  be 
done.  As  he  did  so  Hendrik  got  up,  gave  the  dead  dog  a 
kick,  withdrew  his  assegai  from  the  carcass,  and  then,  as 


270  JESS. 

though  struck  by  a  sudden  desire  to  conceal  the  murder, 
undid  the  collar,  and,  lifting  the  dog  in  his  arms,  carried 
him  with  difficulty  into  the  house  and  laid  him  under  the 
kitchen  table.  This  done  he  came  out  again  to  the  wall, 
which  was  built  of  loose,  unmortared  stones,  pulled  one 
out  without  trouble,  deposited  the  watch  and  the  silver  he 
had  stolen  in  the  cavity,  and  replaced  the  stone.  Next, 
before  Jantje  could  guess  what  he  meant  to  do,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  make  it  practically  impossible  for  his  robbery 
to  be  discovered,  or,  at  any  rate,  very  improbable,  by  light- 
ing a  match,  and,  having  first  glanced  round  to  see  that 
nobody  was  looking,  reaching  up  and  applying  it  to  the 
thick  thatch  with  which  the  house  itself  was  roofed,  and 
of  which  the  fringe  just  here  was  not  more  than  nine  feet 
from  the  ground.  No  rain  had  fallen  at  Mooifontein  for 
several  days,  and  there  had  been  a  hot  sun  and  dry  wind, 
and,  as  a  result,  the  thatch  was  as  dry  as  tinder.  The 
light  caught  in  a  second,  and  in  two  more  a  thin  line  of 
fire  was  running  up  the  roof. 

Hendrik  paused,  stepped  a  few  paces  back,  resting  his 
shoulders  against  the  wall,  immediately  the  other  side  of 
which  was  Jantje,  and  proceeded  to  chuckle  aloud  and 
rub  his  hands  as  he  admired  the  results  of  his  handiwork. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  Hottentot  on  the  farther  side. 
The  provocation  was  too  great,  and  so  was  the  opportuni- 
ty. In  his  hand  was  the  thick  stick  on  which  he  was  so 
fond  of  cutting  notches.  Raising  it  in  both  hands  he 
brought  the  heavy  knob  down  with  all  his  strength  upon 
the  one-eyed  villain's  unprotected  skull.  It  was  a  thick 
skull,  but  the  knob  prevailed  against  it  and  fractured  it, 
and  down  went  the  estimable  witch-doctor  as  though  he 
were  dead. 

Next,  taking  a  leaf  out  of  his  fallen  enemy's  book, 
Jantje"  slipped  over  the  wall,  and,  seizing  the  senseless 
man,  dragged  him  by  one  arm  into  the  kitchen  and  rolled 
him  under  the  table  to  keep  company  with  the  dead  dog. 


JE8S.  271 

Then,  filled  with  a  fearful  joy,  he  slipped  out,  shutting 
and  locking  the  door  behind  him,  and  crept  round  to  a 
point  of  vantage  in  a  little  plantation  seventy  or  eighty 
yards  to  the  right  of  the  house,  whence  he  could  watch 
the  conflagration  that  he  knew  must  ensue,  for  the  fire 
had  taken  instant  and  irremediable  hold,  and  also  see  what 
the  Boers  were  doing. 

Ten  minutes  or  so  afterwards  that  amiable  character 
Hendrik  partially  regained  his  senses,  to  find  himself  sur- 
rounded by  a  sea  of  fire,  in  which  he  perished  miserably, 
not  having  power  to  move,  and  his  feeble  cries  being  to- 
tally swallowed  up  and  lost  in  the  fierce  roaring  of  the 
flames,  even  had  there  been  anybody  there  to  hear  them. 
And  that  was  the  very  appropriate  end  of  Hendrik  and 
the  magic  of  Hendrik. 

Down  by  the  flagstaff  the  old  man  lay  in  his  fit,  with 
Bessie  tending  him  and  a  posse  of  Boers  standing  round, 
smoking  and  laughing  or  lounging  about  with  an  air  of 
lordly  superiority  well  worthy  of  victors  in  possession. 

"  Will  none  of  you  help  me  to  take  him  to  the  house  ?" 
she  cried.  "Surely  you  have  ill-treated  an  old  man 
enough." 

Nobody  stirred,  not  even  Frank  Muller,  who  was  gazing 
at  her  tear-stained  face  with  a  fierce  smile  playing  round 
the  corners  of  his  clean-cut  mouth,  which  his  beard  was 
trimmed  to  leave  clear. 

"It  will  pass,  Miss  Bessie,"  he  said;  "it  will  pass.  I 
have  often  seen  such  fits.  They  come  from  too  much  ex- 
citement, or  too  much  drink — 

Suddenly  he  broke  off  with  an  exclamation,  and  pointed 
to  the  house,  from  the  roof  of  which  pale  curls  of  blue 
smoke  were  rising. 

"  Who  has  fired  the  house  ?"  he  shouted.  "  By  Heaven ! 
I  will  shoot  the  man." 

The  Boers  started  round  and  stared  in  astonishment, 
and  as  they  did  so  the  tinder-like  roof  burst  into  a  broad 


272  JESS. 

sheet  of  flame  that  grew  and  gathered  breadth  and  height 
with  an  almost  marvellous  rapidity.  Just  then,  too,  a 
light  breeze  sprang  up  from  over  the  hill  at  the  rear  of 
the  house,  as  it  sometimes  did  at  this  time  of  the  day,  and 
bent  the  flames  over  towards  them  in  an  immense  arch  of 
fire,  so  that  the  fumes  and  heat  and  smoke  began  to  beat 
upon  their  faces. 

"  Oh,  the  house  is  burning  down!"  cried  Bessie,  utterly 
bewildered  by  this  new  misfortune. 

"Here,  you!"  shouted  Muller  to  the  gaping  Boers,  "go 
and  see  if  anything  can  be  saved.  Phew !  we  must  get 
out  of  this,"  and,  stooping  down,  he  picked  up  Silas  Croft 
in  his  arms  and  walked  off  with  him,  followed  by  Bessie, 
towards  the  plantation  on  their  left,  which  was  the  same 
where  Jantje  had  taken  refuge.  In  the  centre  of  this 
plantation  was  a  little  glade  surrounded  by  young  orange 
and  blue-gum  trees.  Here  he  put  the  old  man  down  upon 
a  bed  of  dead  leaves  and  soft  springing  grass,  and  then 
hurried  away,  without  a  word,  to  the  fire,  only  to  find 
that  the  house  was  utterly  unapproachable.  In  fifteen 
minutes,  such  was  the  rapidity  with  which  the  flames  did 
their  work  upon  the  mass  of  dry  straw  and  the  wooden 
roof  and  floorings  beneath,  the  whole  of  the  interior  of  the 
house  was  a  glowing,  incandescent  pile,  and  in  half  an  hour 
it  was  completely  gutted,  nothing  being  left  standing  but 
the  massive  outer  walls  of  stone,  over  which  a  dense  col- 
umn of  smoke  hung  like  a  pall.  Mooifontein  was  a  black- 
ened ruin;  only  the  stables  and  outhouses,  which  were 
roofed  with  galvanized  iron,  being  left  uninjured. 

Frank  Muller  had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  when,  to 
Bessie's  joy,  her  uncle  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up. 

"What  is  it?  what  is  it?"  he  said.  "Ah!  I  recollect. 
What  is  all  this  smell  of  fire?  Surely  they  have  not 
burned  the  place  ?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  sobbed  Bessie,  "  they  have." 

The  old  man  groaned.     "It  took  me  ten  years  to  build, 


JESS.  -;:» 

bit  by  bit,  almost  stone  by  stone,  and  now  they  have  de- 
stroyed it.  Well,  why  not?  God's  will  be  done!  Give 
me  your  arm,  love;  I  want  to  get  to  the  water.  I  feel 
faint  and  sick." 

She  did  as  he  bade  her,  sobbing  bitterly.  Within  fif- 
teen yards,  on  the  edge  of  the  plantation,  was  a  little  spruit 
or  runnel  of  water,  and  of  this  he  drank  copiously  and 
bathed  his  wounded  head  and  face. 

"There,  love,"  he  said,  "don't  fret;  I  feel  quite  myself 
again.  I  fear  I  made  a  fool  of  myself.  I  haven't  learned 
to  bear  misfortune  and  dishonor  as  I  should  yet,  and,  like 
Job,  I  felt  as  though  God  had  forsaken  us.  But,  as  I  said, 
his  will  be  done.  What  is  the  next  move,  I  wonder ?  Ah! 
we  shall  soon  know,  for  here  comes  our  friend  Frank  Mul- 
ler." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  recovered,  uncle,"  said 
Muller,  politely,  "  and  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that 
the  house  is  beyond  help.  Believe  me,  if  I  knew  who  fired 
it  I  would  shoot  him.  It  was  not  my  wish  or  intention 
that  the  property  should  be  destroyed." 

The  old  man  merely  bowed  his  head  and  made  no  an- 
swer. His  fiery  spirit  seemed  to  be  crushed  out  of  him. 

"  What  is  it  your  pleasure  that  we  should  do,  sir  ?"  said 
Bessie  at  last.  "  Perhaps,  now  that  we  are  ruined,  you 
will  allow  us  to  go  to  Natal,  which,  I  suppose,  is  still  an 
English  country?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Bessie,  Natal  is  still  English — for  the  pres- 
ent; soon  it  will  be  Dutch;  but  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot 
let  you  go  there  now.  My  orders  are  to  keep  you  both 
prisoners  and  to  try  your  uncle  by  court-martial.  The 
wagon-house,"  "he  went  on,  quickly,  "  with  the  two  little 
rooms  on  each  side  of  it,  has  not  been  touched  by  the  fire. 
I  will  have  them  made  ready  for  you,  and  as  soon  as  the 
heat  is  less  you  can  go  there;"  and,  turning  to  the  men 
who  had  followed  him,  he  gave  some  rapid  orders,  which 
two  of  them  departed  to  carry  out. 
18 


274  JESS. 

Still  the  old  man  made  no  comment;  he  did  not  even 
seem  indignant  or  surprised;  but  poor  Bessie  was  utterly 
prostrated  and  stood  helpless,  not  knowing  what  to  say  to 
this  terrible,  remorseless  man,  who  stood  so  calm  and  un- 
moved there  before  them. 

Frank  Muller  paused  awhile  to  think,  stroking  his  beard 
as  he  did  so,  then  turned  again  and  addressed  the  two  re- 
maining men  behind  him. 

"  You  will  keep  guard  over  the  prisoner,"  indicating 
Silas  Croft,  "  and  suffer  none  to  communicate  with  him  by 
word  or  sign.  As  soon  as  it  is  ready  you  will  place  him 
in  the  little  room  to  the  left  of  the  wagon-house,  and  see 
that  he  is  supplied  with  all  he  wants.  If  he  escapes,  or 
converses,  or  is  ill-treated,  I  will  hold  you  responsible.  Do 
you  understand?" 

"  Yah,  meinheer,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Very  good;  be  careful  you  do  not  forget.  And  now, 
Miss  Bessie,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  can  give  me  a  word 
alone — " 

"No,"  said  Bessie;  "no,  I  will  not  leave  my  uncle." 

"  I  fear  you  will  have  to  do  that,"  he  said,  with  his  cold 
smile.  "  I  beg  you  to  think  again.  It  will  be  very  much 
to  your  advantage  to  speak  to  me,  and  to  your  uncle's  ad- 
vantage also.  I  should  advise  you  to  come." 

Bessie  hesitated.  She  hated  and  mistrusted  the  man, 
as  she  had  good  reason  to  do,  and  feared  to  trust  herself 
alone  with  him. 

While  she  still  hesitated,  the  two  Boers  under  whose 
watch  and  ward  Muller  had  placed  her  uncle  came  and 
stood  between  him  and  her,  cutting  her  off  from  him. 
Muller  turned  and  walked  a  few  paces — ten  or  so — to  the 
right,  and  in  desperation  she  followed  him.  He  halted 
behind  a  bushy  orange-tree  of  some  eight  years'  growth. 
Overtaking  him,  she  stood  silent,  waiting  for  him  to  be- 
gin. They  were  quite  close  to  the  others,  but  the  roaring 
of  the  flames  of  the  burning  house  was  still  sufficiently 


JESS.  275 

loud  to  have  drowned  a  much  more  audible  conversation 
than  theirs. 

"  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  to  me  ?"  she  said,  at  length, 
pressing  her  hand  against  her  heart  to  still  its  beating. 
Her  woman's  instinct  told  her  what  was  coming,  and  she 
was  trying  to  nerve  herself  to  meet  it. 

"  Miss  Bessie,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  it  is  this.  For  years  I 
have  loved  you  and  wanted  to  marry  you.  I  again  ask 
you  to  be  my  wife." 

"Mr.  Frank  Muller,"  she  answered,  her  spirit  rising  to 
the  occasion,  "  I  thank  you  for  your  offer,  and  the  only 
answer  that  I  can  give  you  is  that  I  once  and  for  all  de- 
cline it." 

"Think,"  he  said;  "I  love  you  as  women  are  not  often 
loved.  You  are  always  in  my  mind,  by  day  and  by  night 
too.  Everything  I  do,  every  step  I  go  up  the  ladder,  I 
have  said  and  say  to  myself,  '  I  am  doing  it  for  Bessie 
Croft,  whom  I  mean  to  marry.'  Things  have  changed  in 
this  country.  The  rebellion  has  been  successful.  It  was 
I  who  gave  the  casting  vote  for  it  that  I  might  win 
you.  I  am  now  a  great  man,  and  shall  one  day  be  a 
greater.  You  will  be  great  with  me.  Think  what  you 
say." 

"  I  have  thought,  and  I  will  not  marry  you.  You  dare 
to  come  and  ask  me  to  many  you  over  the  ashes  of  my 
home,  out  of  which  you  have  dragged  me  and  my  poor  old 
uncle!  I  hate  you,  I  tell  you,  and  I  will  not  marry  you! 
I  had  rather  marry  a  Kaffir  than  marry  you,  Frank  Muller, 
however  great  you  may  be." 

He  smiled.  "  Is  it  because  of  the  Englishman  Niel  that 
you  will  not  marry  me  ?  He  is  dead.  It  is  useless  to  cling 
to  a  dead  man." 

"  Dead  or  alive,  I  love  him  with  all  my  heart;  and  if  he 
is  dead  it  is  at  the  hands  of  your  people,  and  his  blood 
rises  up  between  us." 

"  His  blood  has  sunk  down  into  the  sand.     He  is  dead, 


276  JESS. 

and  I  am  glad  that  he  is  dead.  Once  more,  is  that  your 
last  word  ?" 

"  It  is." 

"  Very  good.  Then  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  marry  me 
or—" 

"Or  what?" 

"  Or  your  uncle,  the  old  man  you  love  so  much,  shall 
die!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said,  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  What  I  say;  no  more  and  no  less.  Do  you  think  that 
I  will  let  one  old  man's  life  stand  between  me  and  my  de- 
sire ?  Never.  If  you  will  not  marry  me,  Silas  Croft  shall 
be  put  upon  his  trial  for  attempted  murder  and  for  treason 
within  an  hour  from  this.  Within  an  hour  and  a  half  he 
shall  be  condemned  to  die,  and  to-morrow  at  dawn  he  shall 
die,  by  warrant  under  my  hand.  I  am  commandant  here, 
with  power  of  life  and  death,  and  I  tell  you  that  he  shall 
certainly  die — and  his  blood  will  be  on  your  head." 

Bessie  grasped  at  the  tree  for  support.  "  You  dare 
not,"  she  said;  "you  dare  not  murder  an  innocent  old 
man." 

"Dare  not!"  he  answered;  "you  must  understand  me 
very  ill,  Bessie  Croft,  when  you  talk  of  what  I  dare  not  do 
for  you.  There  is  nothing,"  he  added,  with  a  thrill  of  his 
rich  voice,  "  that  I  dare  not  do  to  gain  you.  Listen;  prom- 
ise to  marry  me  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  get  a  clergy- 
man here  from  Wakkerstroom,  and  your  uncle  shall  go 
free  as  air,  though  he  is  a  traitor  to  the  land,  and  though 
he  has  tried  to  shoot  a  burgher  after  the  declaration  of 
peace.  Refuse,  and  he  dies.  Choose  now." 

"  I  have  chosen,"  she  answered,  with  passion.  "  Frank 
Muller,  perjured  traitor — yes,  murderer  that  you  are,  I 
will  not  marry  you!" 

"  Very  good,  very  good,  Bessie;  as  you  will.  But  now 
one  more  thing.  You  shall  not  say  that  I  have  not  warned 
you.  If  you  persist  in  this  your  uncle  shall  die,  but  you 


JESS.  277 

shall  not  escape  me.  You  will  not  marry  me?  Well, 
even  in  this  country,  where  I  can  do  most  things,  I  cannot 
force  you  to  do  that.  But  I  can  force  you  to  be  my  wife 
in  all  but  the  name,  without  marriage;  and  this,  when  your 
uncle  is  stiff  in  his  bloody  grave,  I  will  do.  You  shall 
have  one  more  chance  after  the  trial,  and  one  only.  If 
you  refuse  he  shall  die,  and  then,  after  his  death,  I  shall 
take  you  away  by  force,  and  in  a  week's  time  you  will  be 
glad  enough  to  marry  me  to  cover  up  your  shame,  my 
pretty!" 

"  You  are  a  devil,  Frank  Muller,  a  wicked  devil,  but  I 
will  not  be  frightened  into  dishonor  by  you.  I  had  rather 
kill  myself.  I  trust  to  God  to  help  me.  I  will  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  you ;"  and  she  put  her  hands  before  her  face 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  You s  look  lovely  when  you  weep,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh;  "to-morrow  I  shall  be  able  to  kiss  away  your 
tears.  As  you  will.  Here,  you  !"  he  shouted  to  some 
men,  who  could  be  seen  watching  the  progress  of  the  dy- 
ing fire,  "  come  here." 

Some  of  the  men  obeyed,  and  he  proceeded  to  give  in- 
structions in  the  same  terms  that  he  had  given  to  the 
other  two  men  who  were  watching  old  Silas,  ordering 
Bessie  to  be  instantly  incarcerated  in  the  corresponding 
little  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  wagon-house,  and  kept 
strictly  from  all  communication  from  the  outside  world, 
adding,  however,  these  words: 

"  Bid  the  burghers  assemble  in  the  wagon-house  for  the 
trial  of  the  Englishman,  Silas  Croft,  for  treason  against 
the  state  and  attempted  murder  of  one  of  the  burghers  of 
the  state  in  the  execution  of  the  commands  of  the  tri- 
umvirate." . 

The  two  men  advanced  and  seized  Bessie  by  both  arms. 
Then,  faint  and  overpowered,  she  was  led  through  the 
little  plantation,  over  a  gap  in  the  garden  wall,  down  past 
the  scorched  syringa  -  trees  that  lined  the  roadway  that 


278  JESS. 

ran  along  the  hillside  at  the  back  of  the  still  burning 
house,  till  they  reached  the  wagon-house  with  the  two  lit- 
tle rooms  which  served  respectively  as  a  store  and  har- 
ness room.  She  was  then  thrust  into  the  storeroom,  which 
was  half-full  of  loose  potatoes  and  mealies  in  sacks,  and 
the  door  locked  upon  her. 

There  was  no  window  to  this  room,  and  the  only  light 
in  it  was  such  as  found  its  way  through  the  chinks  of  the 
door  and  an  air  -  hole  in  the  masonry  of  the  back  wall. 
She  sank  on  a  half-emptied  sack  of  mealies  and  tried  to 
reflect.  Her  first  idea  was  of  escape,  but  she  soon  real- 
ized that  that  was  a  practical  impossibility.  The  stout, 
yellow- wood  door  was  locked  upon  her,  and  a  sentry  stood 
before  it.  She  rose  and  looked  through  the  air-hole  in  the 
rear  wall,  but  there  another  sentry  was  posted.  Then  she 
turned  her  attention  to  the  side  wall  that  divided  the  room 
from  the  wagon-house.  It  was  built  of  fourteen  -  inch 
green  brickwork,  and  had  cracked  fi'om  the  shrinkage  of 
the  bricks,  so  that  she  could  hear  anything  that  went  on 
in  the  wagon-house/and  even  see  anybody  who  might  bo 
moving  about  in  it.  But  it  was  far  too  strong  for  her  to 
hope  to  be  able  to  break  through,  and  even  if  she  did,  it 
would  be  useless,  for  there  were  armed  men  there  also. 
Besides,  how  could  she  run  away  and  leave  her  old  uncle 
to  his  fate  ? 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

CONDEMNED    TO    DEATH. 

HALF  an  hour  passed  in  silence,  which  was  only  broken 
by  the  footsteps  of  the  sentries  as  they  tramped,  or  rather 
loitered,  up  and  down,  or  by  the  occasional  fall  of  some 
calcined  masonry  from  the  walls  of  the  burned-out  house. 
What  between  the  smell  of  smoke  and  dust,  the  heat  of 
the  sun  on  the  tin  roof  above,  and  of  the  red-hot  embers 
of  the  house  in  front,  the  little  room  where  Bessie  was 
shut  up  was  almost  unbearable,  and  she  felt  as  though  she 
should  faint  there  upon  the  sacks.  Through  one  of  the 
cracks  in  the  wagon-house  wall  there  blew  a  little  draught, 
and  by  this  crack  Bessie  placed  herself,  leaning  her  head 
against  the  wall  so  as  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  the  air  and 
command  a  view  of  the  place.  Presently,  several  of  the 
Boers  came  into  the  wagon-house  and  proceeded  to  pull 
some  of  the  carts  and  timber  out  of  it,  leaving  one  buck- 
wagon,  however,  placed  along  the  wall  on  the  side  oppo- 
site to  the  crack  through  which  she  was  looking.  Then 
they  pulled  the  Scotch  cart  over  to  her  side,  laughing 
about  something  among  themselves  as  they  did  so,  and  ar- 
ranged it  with  its  back  turned  towards  the  wagon,  sup- 
porting the  shafts  upon  a  wagon-jack.  Next,  out  of  the 
farther  corner  of  the  place,  they  extracted  an  old  saw- 
bench  and  set  it  at  the  top  of  the  open  space.  Then  Bes- 
sie understood  what  they  were  doing;  they  were  arranging 
a  court,  and  the  saw-bench  was  the  judge's  chair.  So 
Frank  Muller  meant  to  carry  out  his  threat! 

Shortly  after  this  all  the  Boers,  except  those  who  were 


280  JESS. 

keeping  guard,  filed  into  the  place  and  began  to  clamber 
on  the  buck-wagon,  seating  themselves  with  much  rough 
joking  in  a  double  row  upon  the  broad  side  rails.  Next 
appeared  Hans  Coetzee,  his  head  bound  up  in  a  bloody 
handkerchief.  He  was  pale  and  shaky,  but  Bessie  could 
see  that  he  was  but  little  the  worse  for  his  wound.  Then 
-came  Frank  Muller  himself,  looking  white  and  very  ter- 
rible, and  as  he  came  the  men  stopped  their  joking  and 
talking.  Indeed,  it  was  curious  to  observe  how  strong  was 
his  ascendency  over  them.  As  a  rule,  the  weak  part  of 
Boer  organization  is  that  it  is  practically  impossible  to 
get  one  Boer  to  pay  deference  to  or  obey  another;  but 
this  was  certainly  not  the  case  where  Frank  Muller  was 
concerned. 

Muller  advanced  without  hesitation  to  the  saw-bench  at 
the  top  of  the  space,  and  sat  down  on  it,  placing  his  rifle 
between  his  knees.  After  this  there  was  a  pause,  and 
next  minute  Bessie  saw  her  old  uncle  conducted  in  by  two 
armed  Boers,  who  halted  in  the  middle  of  the  space,  about 
three  paces  from  the  saw-bench,  and  stood  one  on  either 
side  of  their  prisoner.  At  the  same  time  Hans  Coetzee 
climbed  up  into  the  Scotch  cart,  and  Muller  drew  a  note- 
book and  a  pencil  from  his  pocket. 

"  Silence  !"  he  said.  "  We  are  assembled  here  to  try 
the  Englishman,  Silas  Croft,  by  court-martial.  The 
charges  against  him  are  that  by  word  and  deed,  notably 
by  continuing  to  fly  the  English  flag  after  the  country 
had  been  surrendered  to  the  republic,  lie  has  traitorously 
rebelled  against  the  government  of  the  country.  Further, 
that  he  has  attempted  to  murder  a  burgher  of  the  republic 
by  shooting  at  him  with  a  loaded  rifle.  If  these  charges 
are  proved  against  him  he  will  be  liable  to  death,  by  mar- 
tial law.  Prisoner  Croft,  what  do  you  answer  to  the 
charges  against  you  ?" 

The  old  man,  who  seemed  very  quiet  and  composed, 
looked  up  at  his  judge  and  then  replied: 


JESS.  281 

"  I  am  an  English  subject.  I  only  defended  my  house 
after  you  had  murdered  one  of  my  servants.  I  deny  your 
jurisdiction  over  me,  and  I  refuse  to  plead." 

Frank  Muller  made  some  notes  in  his  pocket-book,  and 
then  said,  "I  overrule  the  prisoner's  objection  as  to  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  court.  As  to  the  charges,  we  will  now 
take  evidence.  Of  the  first  charge  no  evidence  is  needed, 
for  we  all  saw  the  flag  flying.  As  to  the  second,  Hans 
Coetzee,  the  assaulted  burgher,  will  now  give  evidence. 
Hans  Coetzee,  do  you  swear  in  the  name  of  God  and  the 
republic  to  speak  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth  ?" 

"  Almighty,  yes,"  answered  Hans,  from  the  cart  on  which 
he  had  enthroned  himself,  "  so  help  me,  the  dear  Lord." 

"  Proceed  then." 

"  I  was  entering  the  house  of  the  prisoner  to  arrest 
him,  in  obedience  to  your  worshipful  commands,  when  the 
prisoner  lifted  a  gun  and  fired  at  me.  The  bullet  from 
the  gun  struck  me  upon  the  ear,  cutting  it  and  putting  me 
to  much  pain  and  loss  of  blood.  That  is  the  evidence 
I  have  to  give." 

"That's  right;  that  is  not  a  lie,"  said  some  of  the  men 
on  the  wagon. 

"  Prisoner,  have  you  any  question  to  ask  the  witness  ?" 
said  Muller. 

"I  have  no  question  to  ask;  I  deny  your  jurisdiction," 
said  the  old  man,  with  spirit. 

"The  prisoner  declines  to  question  the  witness,  and 
again  pleads  to  the  jurisdiction  a  plea  which  I  have  over- 
ruled. Gentlemen,  do  you  desire  to  hear  any  further  evi- 
dence ?" 

"No,  no." 

"  Do  you  then  find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  the  charges 
laid  against  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  from  the  wagon. 

Muller  made  a  further  note  in  his  book  and  then  went  on: 


282  JESS. 

"  Then,  the  prisoner  having  been  found  guilty  of  high- 
treason  and  attempted  murder,  the  only  matter  that  re- 
mains is  the  question  of  the  punishment  required  to  be 
meted  out  by  the  law  to  such  wicked  and  horrible  of- 
fences. Every  man  will  give  his  verdict,  having  duly  con- 
sidered if  there  is  any  way  by  which,  in  accordance  with 
the  holy  dictates  of  his  conscience,  and  with  the  natural 
promptings  to  pity  in  his  heart,  he  can  extend  mercy  to 
the  prisoner.  As  commandant  and  president  of  the  court 
the  first  vote  lies  with  me;  and  I  must  tell  you,  gentle- 
men, that  I  feel  the  responsibility  a  very  heavy  one  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  my  country;  and  I  must  also  warn  you 
not  to  be  influenced  or  overruled  by  my  decision,  who  am, 
like  you,  only  a  man,  liable  to  err  and  be  led  away." 

"Hear,  hear,"  said  the  voices  on  the  wagon,  as  he 
paused  to  note  the  effect  of  his  address. 

"  Gentlemen  and  burghers  of  the  state,  my  natural 
promptings  in  this  case  are  towards  pity.  The  prisoner 
is  an  old  man,  who  has  lived  many  years  among  us  like  a 
brother.  Indeed,  he  is  a  '  voortrekker,'  and,  though  an 
Englishman,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  land.  Can  we  con- 
demn such  a  one  to  a  bloody  grave,  more  especially  as  he 
has  a  niece  dependent  upon  him  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  they  cried,  in  answer  to  this  skilful  touch 
upon  the  better  strings  in  their  nature. 

"  Gentlemen,  those  sentiments  do  you  honor.  My  own 
heart  cried  but  now  '  No,  no.  Whatever  his  sins  have 
been,  let  the  old  man  go  free.'  But  then  came  reflection. 
True,  the  prisoner  is  old;  but  should  not  age  have  taught 
him  wisdom  ?  Is  that  which  is  not  to  be  forgiven  to 
youth  to  be  forgiven  to  the  ripe  experience  of  many  years  ? 
May  a  man  murder  and  be  a  traitor  because  he  is  old  ?" 

"  No,  certainly  not !"  cried  the  chorus  on  the  wagon. 

"  Then  there  is  the  second  point.  He  was  a  '  voortrek- 
ker' and  a  father  of  the  land.  Should  he  not  therefore 
have  known  better  than  to  betray  it  into  the  hands  of  the 


JESS.  283 

cruel,  godless  English  ?  For,  gentlemen,  though  that 
charge  is  not  laid  against  him,  we  must  remember,  as 
throwing  a  light  upon  his  general  character,  that  the  pris- 
oner was  one  of  those  vile  men  who  betrayed  the  land  to 
Shepstone.  Is  it  not  a  most  cruel  and  unnatural  thing 
that  a  father  should  sell  his  own  child  into  slavery  ? — that 
a  father  of  the  land  should  barter  away  its  freedom? 
Therefore  on  this  point,  too,  does  justice  temper  mercy." 

"That  is  so,"  said  the  chorus  with  particular  enthusi- 
asm, most  of  them  having  themselves  been  instrumental 
in  bringing  the  annexation  about. 

"  Then  one  more  thing:  this  man  has  a  niece,  and  it  is 
the  care  of  all  good  men  to  see  that  the  young  should  not 
be  left  destitute  and  friendless,  lest  they  should  grow  up 
bad  and  become  enemies  to  the  well-being  of  the  state. 
But  in  this  case  that  will  not  be  so,  for  the  farm  will  go 
to  the  girl  by  law;  and,  indeed,  she  will  be  well  rid  of  so 
desperate  and  godless  an  old  man. 

"  And  now,  having  set  my  reasons  towards  one  side  and 
the  other  before  you,  and  having  warned  you  fully  to  act 
each  man  according  to  his  conscience,  I  give  my  vote.  It 
is "  —  and  in  the  midst  of  the  most  intense  silence  he 
paused  and  looked  at  old  Silas,  who  never  even  quailed 
— "  it  is  death.'1'' 

There  was  a  little  hum  of  conversation,  and  poor  Bessie, 
surveying  the  scene  through  the  crack  in  the  storeroom 
wall,  groaned  in  bitterness  and  despair  of  heart. 

Then  Hans  Coetzee  spoke.  It  cut  his  bosom  in  two, 
he  said,  to  have  to  say  a  word  against  one  to  whom  he 
had  for  many  years  been  as  a  brother.  But,  then,  what 
was  he  to  do  ?  The  man  had  plotted  evil  against  their 
land,  the  dear  land  that  the  dear  Lord  had  given  them, 
and  which  they  and  their  fathers  had  on  various  occa- 
sions watered,  and  were  still  continuing  to  water,  with 
their  blood.  What  could  be  a  fitting  punishment  for  so 
black-hearted  a  traitor,  and  how  would  it  be  possible  to 


284  JESS. 

insure  the  better  behavior  of  other  d d  Englishmen, 

unless  they  inflicted  that  pxmishment  ?  There  could,  alas  ! 
be  but  one  answer — though,  personally  speaking,  he  ut- 
tered it  with  many  tears — and  that  answer  was  death. 

After  this  there  were  no  more  speeches,  but  each  man 
voted  according  to  his  age,  upon  his  name  being  called  by 
the  president.  At  first  there  was  a  little  hesitation,  for 
some  among  them  were  fond  of  old  Silas,  and  loath  to 
destroy  him.  But  Frank  Muller  had  played  his  game 
very  well,  and,  notwithstanding  his  appeals  to  their  inde- 
pendence of  judgment,  they  knew  full  surely  what  would 
happen  to  him  who  gave  his  vote  against  the  president. 
So  they  swallowed  their  better  feelings  with  all  the  ease 
for  which  such  swallowing  is  noted,  and  one  by  one  ut- 
tered the  fatal  word. 

When  they  had  all  done  Frank  Muller  addressed  Silas: 

"Prisoner,  you  have  heard  the  judgment  against  you. 
I  need  not  now  recapitulate  your  crimes.  You  have  had 
a  fair  and  open  trial  by  court-martial,  such  as  our  law  di- 
rects. Have  you  anything  to  say  why  sentence  of  death 
should  not  be  passed  upon  you  in  accordance  with  the 
judgment  ?" 

Old  Silas  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes,  and  shook  back 
his  fringe  of  white  hair  like  a  lion  at  bay. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  you  will  do  murder,  do  it, 
black-hearted  villain  that  you  are  !  I  might  point  to  my 
gray  hairs,  to  my  murdered  servant,  to  my  home  that  took 
me  ten  years  to  build,  destroyed  by  you  !  I  might  tell 
you  how  I  have  been  a  good  citizen  and  lived  peaceably 
and  neighborly  in  the  land  for  more  than  twenty  years — 
ay,  and  done  kindness  after  kindness  to  many  of  you  who 
ai*e  going  to  murder  me  in  cold  blood  !  But  I  will  not. 
Shoot  me  if  you  will,  and  may  my  death  lie  heavy  on 
your  heads.  This  morning  I  would  have  said  that  my 
country  would  avenge  me;  I  cannot  say  that  now,  for 
England  has  deserted  us  and  I  have  no  country.  .There- 


JESS.  285 

fore  I  leave  the  vengeance  in  the  hands  of  God,  who  never 
fails  to  avenge,  though  sometimes  he  waits  for  long  to  do 
it.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  Shoot  me  now  if  you  like. 
I  have  lost  my  honor,  my  home,  and  my  country;  why 
should  I  not  lose  my  life  also  ?" 

Frank  Muller  fixed  his  cold  eyes  upon  the  old  man's 
quivering  face  and  smiled  a  dreadful  smile  of  triumph. 

"  Prisoner,  it  is  now  my  duty,  in  the  name  of  God  and 
the  republic,  to  sentence  you  to  be  shot  to-morrow  at 
dawn,  and  may  the  Almighty  forgive  you  your  wicked- 
ness and  have  mercy  upon  your  soul. 

"Let  the  prisoner  be  removed,  and  let  a  man  ride  full 
speed  to  the  empty  house  on  the  hillside,  where  the  Eng- 
lishman with  the  red  beard  used  to  live,  one  hour  this  side 
of  Wakkerstroom,  and  bring  back  with  him  the  clergy- 
man he  will  find  waiting  there,  that  the  prisoner  may  be 
offered  his  ministrations.  Also  let  two  men  be  set  to  dig 
the  prisoner's  grave  in  the  burial-place  at  the  back  of  the 
house.' 

The  guards  laid  their  hands  upon  the  old  man's  shoul- 
ders, and  he  turned  and  wrent  with  them  without  a  word. 
Bessie  watched  him  go,  through  her  crack  in  the  wall,  till 
the  dear  old  head  with  its  fringe  of  white  hairs  and  the 
bent  frame  were  no  more  visible,  and  then,  at  last,  her 
faculties,  benumbed  and  exhausted  by  the  horrors  she  was 
passing  through,  gave  out,  and  she  fell  forward  in  a  faint, 
there  upon  the  sacks. 

Meanwhile  Muller  was  writing  the  death-warrant  on  a 
sheet  of  his  pocket-book.  At  the  foot  he  left  a  space  for 
his  own  signature,  but  he  did  not  sign  it,  for  reasons  of 
his  own.  What  he  did  do  was  to  pass  it  round  to  be 
countersigned  by  all  who  had  formed  the  court  in  this 
mock  trial,  his  object  being  to  implicate  every  man  there 
present  in  the  judicial  murder  by  the  direct  and  incontro- 
vertible evidence  of  his  sign  -  manual.  Now,  Boers  are 
simple  pastoral  folk,  but  they  are  not  quite  so  simple  as 


286  JESS. 

not  to  see  through  a  move  like  this,  and  thereon  followed 
a  very  instructive  little  scene.  They  had,  to  a  man,  been 
willing  enough  to  give  their  verdict  for  the  old  man's  exe- 
cution, but  they  were  by  no  means  ready  to  record  it  in 
black  and  white.  As  soon  as  ever  they  understood  the 
object  of  their  feared  and  respected  commandant,  a  gen- 
eral desire  manifested  itself  to  make  themselves  respec- 
tively and  collectively  scarce.  Suddenly  they  found  that 
they  had  business  outside,  and  something  like  a  general 
attempt  at  a  bolt  ensued.  Several  of  them  had  already 
tumbled  off  their  extemporized  jury  box,  and,  headed  by 
the  redoubtable  Hans,  were  approaching  the  entrance  to 
the  wagon-house,  when  Frank  Muller  perceived  their  de- 
sign, and  roared  out  in  a  voice  of  thunder: 

"  Stop !  Not  a  man  leaves  this  place  till  the  warrant  is 
signed." 

Instantly  the  men  halted,  and  began  to  look  innocent 
and  to  converse. 

"  Hans  Coetzee,  come  here  and  sign,"  said  Muller  again, 
whereon  that  unfortunate  advanced  with  as  good  a  grace 
as  he  could  muster,  murmuring  to  himself  curses,  not  loud 
but  deep,  upon  the  head  of  "  that  devil  of  a  man,  Frank 
Muller." 

However,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  so,  with  a  sickly 
smile,  he  put  his  name  to  the  fatal  document  in  big,  shaky 
letters.  Then  Muller  called  another  man,  who  instantly 
tried  to  get  out  of  it  on  the  ground  that  his  education 
had  been  neglected  and  that  he  could  not  write,  an  excuse 
that  availed  him  little,  for  Frank  Muller  quietly  wrote  his 
name  for  him,  leaving  a  space  for  his  mark.  After  that 
there  was  no  more  trouble,  and  in  five  minutes  the  entire 
back  of  the  warrant  was  covered  with  the  scrawling  sig- 
natures of  the  various  members  of  the  court. 

One  by  one  the  men  went,  till  at  last  Muller  was  left 
alone,  seated  there  on  the  saw-bench,  his  head  sunk  upon 
his  breast,  holding  the  warrant  in  one  hand,  while  with 


JESS.  287 

• 

the  other  he  stroked  his  golden  beard.  Presently  he 
stopped  stroking  his  beard  and  sat  for  some  minutes  per- 
fectly still,  so  still  that  he  might  have  been  carved  in 
stone.  By  this  time  the  afternoon  sun  had  got  behind  the 
hill  and  the  deep  wagon-house  was  full  of  shadow  that 
seemed  to  gather  round  him  and  invest  him  with  a  sombre, 
mysterious  grandeur.  He  looked  like  a  King  of  Evil,  for 
Evil  has  her  princes  as  well  as  Good,  and  stamps  them 
with  her  imperial  seal  of  power,  and  crowns  them  with  a 
diadem  of  her  own;  among  these  Frank  Muller  was  surely 
great.  A  little  smile  of  triumph  played  upon  his  beauti- 
ful, cruel  face,  a  little  light  danced  within  his  cold  eyes 
and  ran  down  the  yellow  beard.  At  that  moment  he 
might  have  sat  for  a  portrait  of  his  master,  the  devil. 

Presently  he  awoke  from  his  reverie.  "  I  have  her  !" 
he  said  to  himself ;  "  I  have  her  in  a  vise  !  She  cannot  es- 
cape me;  she  cannot  let  the  old  man  die  !  Those  curs 
have  served  my  purpose  well ;  they  are  as  easy  to  play  on 
as  a  fiddle,  and  I  am  a  good  player.  Yes,  and  now  we  are 
getting  to  the  end  of  the  tune." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"WE    MUST    PABT,  JOHN." 

JESS  and  her  companion  stood  in  awed  silence  and  gazed 
at  the  blackening  and  distorted  corpses  of  the  thunder- 
blasted  Boers.  Then  they  went  past  them  to  the  tree 
which  grew  some  ten  paces  or  more  on  the  other  side  of 
the  place  of  destruction.  There  was  some  little  difficulty 
in  getting  the  horses  past  the  corpses,  but  at  last  they 
came  with  a  wheel  and  a  snort  of  suspicion,  and  were  tied 
up  to  the  tree  by  John.  Meanwhile  Jess  took  some  of  the 
hard-boiled  eggs  out  of  the  basket  and  vanished,  remark- 
ing that  she  was  going  to  take  her  clothes  off  and  dry 
them  in  the  sun  while  she  ate  her  breakfast,  and  she  ad- 
vised him  to  do  the  same.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  she 
was  well  out  of  sight  behind  the  shelter  of  the  rocks,  she 
proceeded  to  get  out  of  her  sodden  garments,  in  itself 
a  task  of  no  little  difficulty.  Then  she  wrung  them  out 
and  spread  them  one  by  one  on  the  flat,  water-washed 
stones  around,  which  were  by  now  thoroughly  warmed 
with  the  sun.  Next  she  went  down  a  few  paces  to  a  pool 
under  the  shadow  of  the  bank,  in  the  rock-bed  of  the  river, 
and  bathed  her  bruises  and  washed  the  sand  and  mud  from 
her  hair  and  feet.  After  this  she  came  and  sat  herself  on 
a  slab  of  flat  stone  out  of  the  glare  of  the  sun,  and  ate  her 
breakfast  of  hard-boiled  eggs,  reflecting  meanwhile  on  the 
position  in  which  she  found  herself.  For  her  heart  was 
very  sore  and  heavy,  and  she  could  find  it  in  her  to  wish 
that  she  were  lying  somewhere  beneath  those  rushing  wa- 
ters. She  had  calculated  on  death,  and  now  she  was  not 


JESS.  289 

dead,  and  she  and  her  shame  and  her  trouble  might  yet 
live  for  many  a  year.  She  was  like  one  who  in  her  sleep 
had  seemed  to  soar  on  angels'  wings  out  into  the  airy 
depths,  and  then  awakened  with  a  start  to  find  that  she 
had  tumbled  from  her  bed.  All  the  heroic  scale,  all  the 
more  than  earthly  depth  of  passion,  all  the  spiritualized 
desires  that  had  sprung  into  being  beneath  the  shadow  of 
the  approaching  end,  had  come  down  to  the  common  level 
of  an  undesirable  attachment,  along  which  she  must  now 
drag  her  weary  feet  for  many  a  year.  Nor  was  that  all. 
She  had  been  false  to  Bessie,  and  more,  she  had  broken 
Bessie's  lover's  troth.  She  had  tempted  him  and  he  had 
fallen,  and  now  he  was  as  bad  as  she.  Death  would  have 
justified  all  this;  she  would  never  have  done  it  had  she 
thought  she  was  going  to  live;  but  now  Death  had  cheated 
her,  as  he  has  a  way  of  doing  with  people  to  whom  his 
presence  is  more  or  less  desirable,  and  left  her  to  cope  with 
the  spirit  she  had  invoked  when  his  sword  was  quivering 
over  her. 

What  would  be  the  end  of  it,  supposing  they  escaped? 
What  could  be  the  end  except  misery  ?  It  should  go  no 
further,  far  as  it  had  gone,  that  she  swore;  no,  not  if  it 
broke  her  heart  and  his  too.  The  conditions  were  altered 
again,  and  the  memory  of  those  dreadful  and  wonderful 
hours  when  they  two  swung  upon  the  raging  river  and  ex- 
changed their  undying  troth,  with  the  grave  for  their  al- 
tar, must  be  a  memory  and  nothing  more.  It  had  risen  on 
their  lives  like  some  beautiful  yet  terrible  dream-image  of 
celestial  joy,  and  now  like  a  dream  it  must  vanish.  And 
yet  it  was  no  dream,  except  in  so  far  as  all  her  life  was  a 
dream  and  a  vision,  a  riddle  of  which  glimpses  of  the  an- 
swer came  as  rarely  as  gleams  of  sunshine  on  a  rainy  day. 
Alas  !  it  was  no  dream;  it  was  a  portion  of  the  living, 
breathing  past,  that  having  once  been  is  immortal  in  its 
every  part  and  moment,  incarnating  as  it  does  the  very 
spirit  of  immortality,  an  utter  incapacity  to  change.  As 
19 


290  JESS. 

the  act  was,  as  the  word  had  been  spoken,  so  would  act 
and  word  be  forever  and  forever.  And  now  this  undying 
thing  must  be  caged  and  cast  about  with  the  semblance  of 
death  and  clouded  over  with  the  shadow  of  an  unreal  for- 
getf  illness.  Oh,  it  was  bitter,  very  bitter !  What  would 
it  be  now  to  go  away,  right  away  from  him,  and  know  him 
married  to  her  own  sister,  the  other  woman  with  a  prior 
right  ?  What  would  it  be  to  think  of  Bessie's  sweetness 
slowly  creeping  into  her  empty  place  and  filling  it,  of  Bes- 
sie's gentle,  constant  love  covering  up  the  recollection  of 
their  wilder  passion,  pervading  it  and  covering  it  up  as  the 
twilight  slowly  pervades  and  covers  up  the  day,  till  at  last 
perhaps  it  was  all  blotted  out  and  forgotten  in  the  night 
of  f  orgetf  ulness  ? 

And  yet  it  must  be  so,  she  was  determined  that  it  should 
be  so.  Ah,  that  she  had  died  then  with  his  kiss  upon  her 
lips  !  Why  had  he  not  let  her  die  ?  And  the  poor  girl 
shook  her  damp  hair  over  her  face  and  sobbed  in  the  bit- 
terness of  her  heart,  as  Eve  might  have  sobbed  when  Adam 
reproached  her. 

But,  naked  or  dressed,  sobbing  will  not  mend  matters 
in  this  sad  world  of  ours,  a  fact  that  Jess  had  the  sense  to 
realize;  so  she  presently  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hair, 
having  nothing  else  handy  to  wipe  them  with,  and  set  to 
work  to  get  into  her  partially-dried  garments  again,  a 
process  calculated  to  irritate  the  most  fortunate  and  happy- 
minded  woman  in  the  whole  wide  world.  Certainly  in 
her  present  frame  of  mind  those  damp,  bullet-torn  clothes 
drove  Jess  nearly  wild,  so  much  so  that  had  she  been  a 
man  she  would  probably  have  sworn — a  consolation  that 
her  sex  denied  her.  Fortunately  she  had  a  travelling- 
comb  in  her  pocket,  with  which  she  made  shift  to  do  her 
curling  hair,  if  hair  can  be  said  to  be  done  when  one  has 
not  a  hairpin  or  even  a  bit  of  string  to  fasten  it  up  with. 

Then,  after  a  last  and  frightful  struggle  with  her  sod- 
den boots,  that  seemed  to  take  almost  as  much  out  of  her 


JESS.  291 

as  her  roll  at  the  bottom  of  the  Vaal,  she  rose  and  walked 
back  to  the  spot  where  she  had  left  John  an  hour  before. 
He  was  employed,  when  she  reached  him,  in  saddling  up 
the  second  of  the  two  grays,  with  the  saddles  and  bridles 
that  he  had  removed  from  the  carcasses  of  the  horses 
which  the  lightning  had  destroyed. 

"  Hullo,  Jess,  you  look  quite  smart.  Have  you  dried 
your  clothes?"  he  said.  "I  have  after  a  fashion." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  at  her.  "  Why,  dearest,  you  have  been  cry- 
ing. Come,  things  are  black  enough,  but  it  is  no  use  cry- 
ing. At  any  rate,  we  have  got  off  with  our  lives  so  far." 

"  John,"  said  Jess,  sharply,  "  there  must  be  no  more  of 
that.  Things  have  changed.  We  were  dead  last  night; 
now  we  have  come  to  life  again.  Besides,"  she  added, 
with  a  ghost  of  a  laugh,  "  perhaps  you  will  see  Bessie  to- 
morrow. I  should  think  we  ought  to  have  got  to  the  end 
of  our  misfortunes." 

John's  face  fell,  as  the  recollection  of  the  impossible 
and  most  tragic  position  in  which  they  were  placed,  phys- 
ically and  morally,  swept  into  his  mind. 

"  My  dearest  Jess,"  he  said,  "  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

She  stamped  her  foot,  in  the  bitter  anguish  of  her  heart. 
"  I  told  you,"  she  said,  "  that  there  must  be  no  more  of 
that.  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  From  to-day  we 
are  dead  to  each  other.  I  have  done  with  you  and  you 
with  me.  It  is  your  own  fault:  you  should  have  let  me 
die.  Oh,  John,  John,"  she  wailed  out,  "  why  did  you  not 
let  me  die  ?'  Why  did  we  not  both  die  ?  We  should  have 
been  happy  now,  or — asleep.  We  must  part,  John,  we 
must  part;  and  what  shall  I  do  without  you?  what  shall 
I  do  ?" 

Her  distress  was  very  poignant,  and  it  affected  him  so 
much  that  for  a  moment  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  an- 
swer her. 

"  Would  it  not  be  best  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to 


292  JESS. 

Bessie  ?"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  should  feel  a  blackguard  for 
the  rest  of  my  life,  but  upon  my  word  I  have  a  mind  to 
do  it." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  passionately,  "  I  will  not  have  you 
do  it !  You  shall  swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  breathe 
a  word  to  Bessie.  I  will  not  have  her  happiness  destroyed. 
We  have  sinned,  we  must  suffer;  not  Bessie,  who  is  inno- 
cent and  only  takes  her  right.  I  promised  my  dear  moth- 
er to  look  after  Bessie  and  protect  her,  and  I  will  not  be 
the  one  to  betray  her — never,  never!  You  must  marry 
her  and  I  must  go  away.  There  is  no  other  way  out  of 
it." 

John  looked  at  her,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do.  A 
sharp  pang  of  despair  went  through  him  as  he  watched 
the  passionate,  pale  face,  and  the  great  eyes  dim  with  tears. 
How  was  he  to  part  from  her  ?  He  put  out  his  arms  to 
take  her  in  them,  but  she  pushed  him  away  almost  fiercely. 

"  Have  you  no  honor  ?"  she  cried.  "  Is  it  not  all  hard 
enough  to  bear  without  your  tempting  me  ?  I  tell  you  it 
is  all  done  with.  Finish  saddling  that  horse  and  let  us 
start.  The  sooner  we  get  off  the  sooner  it  will  be  over, 
unless  the  Boers  catch  us  again  and  shoot  us,  which  for 
my  own  part  I  devoutly  hope  they  may.  You  must  make 
up  your  mind  to  remember  that  I  am  nothing  but  your 
sister-in-law.  If  you  will  not  remember  it,  then  I  shall 
ride  away  and  leave  you  to  go  your  way  and  I  will  go 
mine." 

John  said  no  more.  Her  determination  was  as  crushing 
as  the  cruel  necessity  that  dictated  it.  What  was  more, 
his  own  reason  and  sense  of  honor  approved  of  it,  what- 
ever his  passion  might  prompt  to  the  contrary.  As  he 
turned  wearily  to  finish  saddling  the  horses  he  almost  re- 
gretted with  Jess  that  they  had  not  both  been  drowned 
and  got  it  over. 

Of  course  the  only  saddles  that  they  had  were  those  be- 
longing to  the  dead  Boers,  which  was  very  awkward  for  a 


JESS.  293 

lady.  Luckily  for  herself,  however,  Jess  could,  from  con- 
stant practice,  ride  almost  as  well  as  though  she  had  been 
trained  to  the  ring,  and  was  even  capable  of  balancing 
herself  without  a  pommel  on  a  man's  saddle,  having  often 
and  often  ridden  round  the  farm  in  that  way.  So  soon  as 
the  horses  were  ready  she  astonished  John  by  clambering 
into  the  saddle  of  the  older  and  steadier  animal,  placing 
her  foot  in  the  stirrup-strap  and  announcing  that  she  was 
ready  to  start. 

"  You  had  better  ride  some  other  way,"  said  John.  "  It 
isn't  usual,  I  know,  but  you  will  tumble  off." 

"  You  shall  see,"  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  putting 
the  horse  into  a  canter  as  she  spoke.  John  followed  her 
on  the  other  horse,  and  noted  with  amazement  that  she  sat 
as  straight  and  steady  on  her  slippery  seat  as  though  she 
were  on  a  hunting-saddle,  keeping  herself  from  falling  by 
an  instinctive  balancing  of  the  body  which  was  very  curi- 
ous to  notice.  When  they  got  well  on  to  the  plain  they 
halted  to  consider  their  route,  and  as  they  did  so  Jess 
pointed  to  the  long  lines  of  vultures  descending  to  feast 
on  their  would-be  murderers.  If  they  went  down  the  riv- 
er it  would  lead  them  to  Standerton,and  there  they  would 
be  safe  if  they  could  get  into  the  town,  which  was  garri- 
soned by  English.  But  then,  as  they  had  gathered  from 
the  conversation  of  their  escort,  Standerton  was  closely  in- 
vested by  the  Boers,  and  to  try  and  pass  through  their 
lines  was  more  than  they  dared  to  do.  It  was  true  that 
they  still  had  the  pass  signed  by  the  Boer  general,  but  after 
what  had  occurred  they  were  not  unnaturally  somewhat 
sceptical  about  the  value  of  passes,  and  certainly  unwilling 
to  put  their  efficacy  to  the  proof.  So,  after  due  consider- 
ation, they  determined  to  avoid  Standerton  and  ride  in  the 
opposite  direction  till  they  found  a  practicable  ford  of  the 
Yaal.  Fortunately,  they  both  of  them  had  a  very  fair 
idea  of  the  lay  of  the  land;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  John 
possessed  a  small  compass  fastened  to  his  watch-chain, 


294  JESS. 

which  would  enable  him  to  steer  a  pretty  correct  course 
across  the  veldt — a  fact  that  would  render  them  indepen- 
dent of  the  roads.  On  the  roads  they  would  run  a  mo- 
mentary risk,  if  not  a  certainty,  of  detection.  But  on  the 
wide  veldt  the  chances  were  they  would  meet  no  living 
creature  except  the  wild  game.  Should  they  come  across 
houses  they  would  be  able  to  avoid  them,  and  their  male 
inhabitants  would  probably  be  far  away  from  home  on 
business  connected  with  the  war. 

Accordingly  they  rode  ten  miles  or  more  along  the  bank 
without  seeing  a  soul,  when  they  reached  a  space  of  bub- 
bling, shallow  water  that  looked  fordable.  Indeed,  an  in- 
vestigation of  the  banks  revealed  the  fact  that  a  loaded 
wagon  had  passed  the  river  at  no  distant  date,  perhaps  a 
week  before. 

"That  is  good  enough,"  said  John  ;  "we  will  try  it." 
And  without  further  ado  they  plunged  in. 

In  the  centre  of  the  stream  the  water  was  strong  and 
deep,  and  for  a  few  yards  took  the  horses  off  their  legs, 
but  they  struck  out  boldly  till  they  got  their  footing  again; 
and  after  that  there  was  no  more  trouble.  On  the  farther 
side  of  the  river  John  took  counsel  with  his  compass,  and 
steered  a  course  straight  for  Mooifontein.  At  midday 
they  offsaddled  the  horses  for  an  hour  by  some  water,  and 
ate  a  small  portion  of  their  remaining  food.  Then  they 
upsaddled  and  went  on  across  the  lonely,  desolate  veldt. 
No  human  being  did  they  see  all  that  long  day.  The 
wide  country  was  only  tenanted  by  great  herds  of  thun- 
dering game  that  came  rushing  past  like  squadrons  of 
cavalry,  or  here  and  there  by  coteries  of  vultures,  hissing 
and  fighting  furiously  over  some  dead  buck.  And  so  at  last 
twilight  came  on  and  found  them  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

"  Well,  what  is  to  be  done  now  ?"  said  John,  pulling  up 
his  tired  horse.  "  It  will  be  dark  in  half  an  hour." 

Jess  slid  from  her  saddle  as  she  answered,  "  Get  off  and 
go  to  sleep,  I  suppose." 


JESS.  295 

She  was  quite  right;  there  was  absolutely  nothing  else 
that  they  could  do  :  so  John  set  to  work  and  hobbled  the 
horses,  tying  them  together  for  further  security,  for  it 
would  be  a  dreadful  thing  if  they  were  to  stray.  By  the 
time  that  this  was  done  the  twilight  was  gathering  into 
night,  and  the  two  sat  down  to  contemplate  their  surround- 
ings with  feelings  akin  to  despair.  So  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  vast  stretch  of 
lonely  plain,  across  which  the  night  wind  blew  in  dreary 
gusts,  making  the  green  grass  ripple  like  the  sea.  There 
was  absolutely  no  shelter  to  be  had,  nor  anything  to  break 
the  monotony,  unless  it  were  a  couple  of  ant-heaps  about 
five  paces  apart.  John  sat  down  on  one  of  the  ant-heaps, 
and  Jess  took  up  her  position  on  the  other,  and  there  they 
remained,  like  pelicans  in  the  wilderness,  watching  the 
daylight  fade  out  of  the  day. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  we  had  better  sit  together  ?"  sug- 
gested John,  feebly.  "  It  would  be  wanner,  you  see." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  answered  Jess,  snappishly.  "  I  am  very 
comfortable  as  I  am." 

Unfortunately,  however,  this  was  not  the  exact  truth, 
for  poor  Jess's  teeth  were  already  chattering  with  cold. 
Soon,  indeed,  they  found  that  the  only  way  to  keep  their 
blood  moving  was,  weary  as  they  were,  to  continually 
tramp  up  and  down.  After  an  hour  and  a  half  or  so  of  this, 
the  breeze  dropped  and  the  temperature  got  more  suit- 
able to  their  lightly-clad,  half-starved,  and  almost  exhaust- 
ed bodies.  Then  the  moon  came  up,  and  the  hyenas,  or 
wolves,  or  some  such  animals,  came  up  also  and  howled 
round  them — though  they  could  not  see  them.  These  hy- 
enas proved  more  than  Jess's  nerves  could  stand,  and  she 
at  last  condescended  to  ask  John  to  share  her  ant-heap; 
there  they  sat,  shivering  in  each  other's  arms,  throughout 
the  livelong  night.  Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  warmth 
they  gathered  from  each  other,  it  is  probable  that  they 
would  have  fared  even  worse  than  they  did ;  for,  though 


296  JESS. 

the  days  were  hot,  the  nights  were  now  beginning  to  get 
cold  on  the  high  veldt,  especially  when,  as  at  present,  the 
air  had  recently  been  chilled  by  the  passage  of  a  heavy 
tempest.  Another  drawback  to  their  romantic  situation 
was  that  they  were  positively  soaked  by  the  falling  dew. 
There  they  sat,  or  rather  cowered,  for  hour  after  hour 
without  sleeping,  for  sleep  was  impossible,  and  almost 
without  speaking;  and  yet,  notwithstanding  the  misery  of 
their  circumstances,  not  altogether  unhappy,  since  they 
were  united  in  their  misery.  At  last  the  eastern  sky  be- 
gan to  turn  gray,  and  John  rose  and  shook  the  dew  from 
his  hat  and  clothes,  and  limped  off  as  well  as  his  half- 
frozen  limbs  would  allow,  to  catch  the  horses,  which  were 
standing  together  some  yards  away,  looking  huge  and 
ghostlike  in  the  mist.  By  sunrise  he  had  managed  to  sad- 
dle them  up,  and  they  started  once  more.  This  time,  how- 
ever, he  had  to  lift  Jess  on  to  the  saddle. 

About  eight  o'clock  they  halted  and  ate  their  little  re- 
maining food,  and  then  proceeded  slowly  enough,  for  the 
horses  were  almost  as  tired  as  they  were,  and  it  was  nec- 
essary to  husband  them  if  they  were  to  reach  Mooifontein 
by  dark.  At  midday  they  halted  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
and  then,  feeling  almost  worn  out,  went  on  once  more, 
reckoning  that  they  could  not  be  more  than  sixteen  or 
seventeen  miles  from  Mooifontein.  It  was  about  two 
hours  after  this  that  a  catastrophe  happened.  The  course 
they  were  following  ran  down  the  side  of  one  land  wave, 
then  across  a  little  swampy  sluit,  and  up  the  opposite 
slope.  They  crossed  the  swampy  ground,  walked  their 
horses  up  to  the  crest  of  the  opposite  rise,  and  found 
themselves  face  to  face  with  a  party  of  armed  and  mount- 
ed Boers. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

JE88     FINDS     A    FRIEND. 

THE  Boers  swooped  down  on  them  with  a  shout,  like  a 
hawk  on  a  sparrow.  John  pulled  up  his  horse  and  drew 
his  revolver. 

"Don't, don't !"  cried  Jess;  "  our  only  chance  is  to  be 
civil;"  whereon,  thinking  better  of  the  matter,  he  replaced 
it,  and  wished  the  leading  Boer  good-day. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  asked  the  Dutchman; 
whereon  Jess  explained  that  they  had  a  pass  —  which 
John  promptly  produced — and  were  proceeding  to  Mooi- 
fontein. 

"Ah,  Om  Crofts !"  said  the  Boer  as  he  took  the  pass; 
"  you  are  likely  to  meet  a  burying-party  there,"  and  at  the 
time  Jess  did  not  understand  what  he  meant.  He  eyed 
the  pass  suspiciously  all  over,  and  then  asked  how  it  came 
to  be  stained  with  water. 

Jess,  not  daring  to  tell  the  truth,  said  that  it  had  been 
dropped  into  a  puddle.  The  Boer  was  about  to  return  it, 
when  suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  Jess's  saddle. 

"  How  is  it  that  the  girl  is  riding  on  a  man's  saddle  ?" 
he  asked.  ."  Why,  I  know  that  saddle;  let  me  look  at  the 
other  side.  Yes,  there  is  a  bullet-hole  through  the  flap. 
That  is  Swart  Dirk's  saddle.  How  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"  I  bought  it  from  him,"  answered  Jess,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  "  I  could  get  nothing  to  ride  on." 

The  Boer  shook  his  head.  "  There  are  plenty  of  saddles 
in  Pretoria,"  he  said,  "  and  these  are  not  the  days  when  a 
man  sells  his  saddle  to  an  English  girl.  Ah  !  and  that 


298  JESS. 

other  is  a  Boer  saddle  too.  No  Englishman  has  a  saddle- 
cloth like  that.  This  pass  is  not  sufficient,"  he  went  on,  in 
a  cold  tone;  "it  should  have  been  countersigned  by  the 
local  commandant.  I  must  arrest  you." 

Jess  began  to  make  further  excuses,  but  he  merely  re- 
peated, "  I  must  arrest  you,"  and  gave  some  orders  to  the 
men  with  him. 

"  We  are  in  for  it  again,"  she  said  to  John;  "  and  there 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  go." 

"  I  sha'n't  mind  so  much  if  only  they  will  give  us  some 
grub,"  said  John,  philosophically.  "  I  am  half  starved." 

"  And  I  am  half  dead,"  said  Jess,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"I  wish  they  would  shoot  us  and  have  done  with  it." 
.  "  Come,  cheer  up,  Jess,"  he  answered  ;  "  perhaps  the 
luck  is  going  to  change." 

She  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  one  who  expects  the 
worst,  and  then  some  gay  young  spirits  among  the  Boers 
came  up  and  made  things  pleasant  by  an  exhibition  of 
their  polished  wit,  which  they  chiefly  exercised  at  the  ex- 
pense of  poor  Jess,  whose  appearance  was,  as  may  well  be 
imagined,  exceedingly  wretched  and  forlorn ;  so  much  so 
that  it  would  have  moved  the  pity  of  most  people.  But 
these  specimens  of  the  golden  youth  of  a  simple  pastoral 
folk  found  in  it  a  rich  mine  of  opportunities.  They  asked 
her  if  she  would  not  like  to  ride  straddle-legged,  and  if 
she  had  bought  her  dress  from  an  old  Hottentot  who  had 
done  with  it,  and  if  she  had  been  rolling  about  tipsy  in 
the  veldt  to  get  all  the  mud  on  it;  and  generally  availed 
themselves  of  this  unparalleled  occasion  to  be  witty  at  the 
expense  of  an  English  lady  in  sore  distress.  Indeed,  one 
gay  young  dog,  called  Jacobus,  was  proceeding  from  jokes 
linguistic  to  jokes  practical.  Perceiving  that  Jess  only 
kept  her  seat  on  the  man's  saddle  by  the  exercise  of  a  cu- 
rious faculty  of  balance,  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would 
be  a  fine  thing  to  upset  it  and  make  her  fall  upon  her  face. 
Accordingly,  with  a  sudden  twist  of  the  rein  he  brought 


JESS.  299 

his  horse  sharply  against  her  wearied  animal,  nearly  throw- 
ing it  down;  but  she  was  too  quick  for  him,  and  saved 
herself  by  catching  at  the  mane.  Jess  said  nothing;  in- 
deed, she  made  no  answer  to  her  tormentors,  and  fortu- 
nately John  understood  very  little  of  what  they  were  say- 
ing. Presently,  however,  the  young  Boer  made  another 
attempt,  putting  out  his  hand  to  give  her  a  sly  push;  and, 
as  it  happened,  John  saw  it,  and  the  sight  of  the  indignity 
made  the  blood  b.oil  in  his  veins.  Before  he  could  reflect 
on  what  he  was  doing  he  was  alongside  of  the  man,  and, 
catching  him  by  the  throat,  had  hurled  him  backwards 
over  his  crupper  with  all  the  force  he  could  command.  The 
man  fell  heavily  upon  his  shoulders,  and  instantly  there 
was  a  great  hubbub.  John  drew  his  revolver,  and  the 
other  Boers  raised  their  rifles,  and  Jess  thought  that  there 
was  an  end  of  it,  and  put  her  hand  before  her  face,  hav- 
ing first  thanked  John  for  avenging  the  insult  with  a  swift 
flash  of  her  beautiful  eyes.  And,  indeed,  in  another  sec- 
ond it  would  have  been  all  over  had  not  the  elder  man  who 
had  taken  the  pass  interposed;  the  fact  being  that  he  had 
witnessed  the  proceedings  that  led  to  his  follower's  dis- 
comfiture, and,  being  a  decent  man  at  bottom,  had  disap- 
proved of  them. 

"  Leave  them  alone  and  put  down  those  guns,"  he  shout- 
ed. "  It  served  Jacobus  right;  he  was  trying  to  push  the 
girl  from  the  horse.  Almighty !  it  is  not  wonderful  those 
English  call  us  brute  beasts  when  you  boys  do  such 
things.  Put  down  your  guns,  I  say,  and  one  of  you  help 
Jacobus  up.  He  looks  as  sick  as  a  buck  with  a  bullet 
through  it." 

Accordingly  the  row  passed  over,  and  the  playful  Jaco- 
bus— whom  Jess  noted  with  satisfaction  was  exceeding- 
ly sick  and  trembled  in  every  limb — was  with  difficulty 
hoisted  on  to  his  horse,  and  proceeded  on  his  journey  witft 
not  a  single  bit  of  fun  left  in  him. 

A  little  while  after  this  Jess  pointed  out  a  long,  low  hill 


300  JESS. 

that  lay  upon  the  flat  belt,  a  dozen  miles  or  so  away,  like 
a  stone  on  a  stretch  of  sand. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  there  is  Mooifontein  at  last!" 

"We  are  not  there  yet,"  remarked  John,  sadly. 

Another  weary  half-hour  passed,  and  then  they  suddenly, 
on  passing  over  a  crest,  saw  Hans  Coetzee's  homestead  ly- 
ing down  by  the  water  in  the  hollow.  So  that  was  where 
they  were  being  taken  to. 

Within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  house  the  Boers  halted 
and  consulted,  except  Jacobus,  who  went  on,  still  looking 
very  green.  Finally  the  elder  man  came  to  them  and  ad- 
dressed Jess,  at  the  same  time  handing  her  back  the  pass. 
"  You  can  go  on  home,"  he  said.  "  The  Englishman  must 
stay  with  us  till  we  find  out  more  about  him." 

"He  says  that  I  can  go.  What  shall  I  do?"  asked 
Jess.  "I  don't  like  leaving  you  with  these  men." 

"Do  ?  why  go,  of  course.  I  can  look  after  myself;  and 
if  I  can't,  certainly  you  won't  be  able  to  help  me.  Perhaps 
you  will  be  able  to  get  some  help  at  the  farm.  At  any 
rate,  you  must  go." 

"Now,  Englishman,"  said  the  Boer. 

"  Good-bye,  Jess,"  said  John.     "  God  bless  you." 

"  Good-bye,  John,"  she  answered,  looking  him  steadily 
in  the  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  turning  away  to  hide 
the  tears  which  would  gather  in  her  own. 

And  thus  they  parted. 

She  knew  her  way  now,  even  across  the  open  veldt,  for 
she  dared  not  go  by  the  road.  There  was,  however,  a 
bridle-path  that  ran  over  the  hill  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  for  this  she  shaped  her  course.  It  was  five  o'clock 
now,  and  both  she  and  her  horse  were  in  a  condition  of 
great  exhaustion,  which  was  enhanced  in  her  case  by  want 
of  food  and  trouble  of  mind.  But  she  was  a  strong  woman 
and  had  a  will  of  iron,  and  she  held  on  where  most  women 
would  have  died.  Jess  meant  to  get  to  Mooifontein  some- 
how, and  she  knew  that  she  would  get  there.  If  she  could 


JESS.  301 

only  reach  the  place  and  get  some  help  sent  to  her  lover,  she 
did  not  greatly  care  what  happened  to  her  afterwards.  The 
pace  of  the  horse  she  was  riding  got  slower  and  slower. 
From  the  ambling  canter  into  which  at  first  she  managed 
occasionally  to  force  it,  and  which  is  the  best  pace  to 
travel  in  South  Africa,  it  continually  collapsed  into  a 
rough,  short  trot,  which  was  agony  to  her,  riding  as  she 
was,  and  from  that  into  a  walk.  Indeed,  just  before  sun- 
set, or  a  little  after  six  o'clock,  the  walk  became  final.  At 
last  they  reached  the  rising  ground  that  stretched  up  the 
slope  to  the  Mooifontein  hill,  and  here  the  poor  beast  fell 
down,  utterly  worn  out.  Jess  slipped  off  and  tried  to  drag 
it  up,  but  failed.  It  had  not  a  yard  of  go  left  in  it.  So 
she  did  what  she  could,  pulling  off  the  bridle  and  undoing 
the  girth,  so  that  the  saddle  would  fall  off  if  the  horse  ever 
managed  to  rise.  Then  she  set  to  work  to  walk  over  the 
hill.  The  poor  horse  watched  her  go  with  melancholy 
eyes,  knowing  that  it  was  being  deserted.  First  it  neighed, 
then  with  a  desperate  effort  struggled  to  its  feet  and  ran 
after  her  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  only  to  fall  doAvn  again  at 
last.  Jess  turned  and  saw  it,  and,  exhausted  as  she  was, 
she  positively  ran  to  get  away  from  the  look  in  those  big 
eyes.  That  night  there  was  a  cold  rain,  in  which  the  horse 
perished,  as  "  poor  "  horses  are  apt  to  do. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Jess  at  length  reached  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  looked  down.  She  knew  the  spot  well,  and 
from  it  she  could  always  see  the  light  from  the  kitchen 
window  of  the  house.  To-night  there  was  no  light.  Won- 
dering what  it  could  mean,  and  feeling  a  fresh  chill  of 
doubt  creep  round  her  heart,  she  scrambled  on  down  the 
hill.  When  she  was  about  half-way  down  a  shower  of 
sparks  suddenly  shot  up  into  the  air  from  the  spot  where 
the  house  should  be,  caused  by  the  fall  of  a  piece  of  wall 
into  the  smouldering  embers  beneath.  Again  Jess  paused, 
wondering  and  aghast.  What  could  have  happened  ?  De- 
termined at  all  hazards  to  discover,  she  crept  on  very  cau- 


302  JESS. 

tiously.  Before  she  had  gone  another  twenty  yards,  how- 
ever, a  hand  was  suddenly  laid  upon  her  arm.  She  turned 
quickly,  too  paralyzed  with  fear  to  cry  out,  and  as  she 
did  so  a  voice  that  was  familiar  to  her  whispered,  "  Missie 
Jess,  Missie  Jess,  is  it  you  ?"  into  her  ear.  "  I  am  Jantje." 

She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  her  heart,  which  had  stood 
still,  began  to  move  again.  Here  was  a  friend  at  last. 

"  I  heard  you  coming  down  the  hill,  though  you  came 
so  softly,"  he  said;  "but  I  could  not  tell  who  it  was,  be- 
cause you  jumped  from  rock  to  rock,  and  did  not  walk  as 
usual.  But  I  thought  it  was  a  woman  with  boots;  I  could 
not  see,  because  the  light  all  falls  dead  against  the  hill, 
and  the  stars  are  not  up.  So  I  got  to  the  left  of  your  path 
— for  the  wind  is  blowing  from  the  right — and  waited  till 
you  had  passed  and  winded  you.  Then  I  knew  who  you 
were  for  certain — either  you  or  Missie  Bessie ;  but  Missie 
Bessie  is  shut  up,  so  it  could  not  be  her." 

"  Bessie  shut  up!"  ejaculated  Jess,  not  even  pausing  to 
marvel  at  the  doglike  instinct  that  had  enabled  the  Hot- 
tentot to  identify  her.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"This  way,  missie;  come  this  way  and  I  will  tell  you;" 
and  he  led  her  to  a  fantastic  pile  of  rocks  in  which  it  was 
his  wild  habit  to  sleep.  Jess  knew  the  place  well,  and 
had  often  peeped  into,  but  never  entered,  the  Hottentot's 
kennel. 

"Stop  a  bit,  missie.  I  will  go  and  light  a  candle;  I 
have  some  in  there,  and  they  can't  see  the  light  from  the 
outside,"  and  accordingly  he  vanished.  In  a  few  seconds 
he  returned,  and,  taking  her  by  the  sleeve,  led  her  along  a 
winding  passage  between  great  bowlders,  till  they  came  to 
a  beehole  in  the  rocks,  through  which  she  could  see  the 
light  shining.  Going  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  Jantje 
crept  thi-ough  and  Jess  followed  him.  She  found  herself 
in  a  small  apTrtment,  about  six  feet  square  by  eight  high, 
principally  formed  by  the  accidental  falling  together  of 
several  big  bowlders,  and  roofed  in  by  one  great  natural 


JESS.  303 

slab.  The  place,  which  was  lighted  by  an  end  of  candle 
stuck  upon  the  floor,  was  very  dirty,  as  was  to  be  expected 
from  a  Hottentot's  den,  and  in  it  were  collected  an  enor- 
mous variety  of  odds  and  ends.  As,  discarding  a  three- 
legged  stool  that  Jantje  offered  her,  Jess  sank  down  upon 
a  pile  of  skins  in  the  corner,  her  eye  fell  upon  a  collection 
worthy  of  an  old-rag-and-bone  shop.  The  sides  of  the 
chamber  were  festooned  with  every  imaginable  garment, 
from  the  white  full-dress  coat  of  an  Austrian  officer  down 
to  a  shocking  pair  of  corduroys  Jantje  had  "  lifted"  from  the 
body  of  a  bushman  which  he  had  discovered  in  his  ram- 
bles. All  these  were  in  various  stages  of  decay,  and  obvi- 
ously the  result  of  years  of  patient  collecting.  In  the  cor- 
ners again  were  sticks,  kerries,  and  two  assegais,  a  number 
of  queer-shaped  stones  and  bones,  handles  of  broken  table- 
knives,  bits  of  the  locks  of  guns,  portions  of  an  American 
clock,  and  various  other  articles  which  this  human  jackdaw 
had  picked  up  and  hidden  away  here.  Altogether  it  was 
a  strange  place;  and  it  vaguely  occurred  to  Jess,  as  she 
sank  back  upon  the  dirty  skins,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
old  clothes  and  the  wreck  of  the  American  clock,  she  would 
have  seen  a  very  fair  example  of  the  dwellings  of  primeval 
man. 

"  Stop  before  you  begin,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  any- 
thing to  eat  here  ?  I  am  nearly  starving." 

Jantje  grinned  knowingly,  and,  grubbing  in  a  heap  of 
rubbish  in  the  corner,  fished  out  a  gourd  with  a  piece  of 
flat  sheet-iron  which  had  once  formed  the  back  plate  of  a 
stove,  placed  on  the  top.  It  contained  "  raaas,"or  curdled 
buttermilk,  which  a  woman  had  brought  him  down  that 
very  morning  from  a  neighboring  kraal,  and  was  destined 
for  Jantje's  own  supper.  Hungry  as  he  was  himself,  for 
he  had  had  no  food  all  day,  he  gave  it  to  Jess  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  together  with  a  wooden  spoon,  and, 
squatting  on  the  rock  before  her,  watched  her  eat  it  with 
guttural  exclamations  of  satisfaction.  Not  knowing  that 


304  JESS. 

she  was  robbing  a  hungry  man,  Jess  ate  the  mass  to  the 
last  spoonful,  and  was  grateful  to  feel  the  sensation  of 
gnawing  sickness  leave  her. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  what  you  mean." 
Thereon  Jantje  began  at  the  beginning  and  related  the 
events  of  the  day,  so  far  as  he  was  acquainted  with  them. 
When  he  came  to  where  the  old  man  was  dragged,  with 
kicks  and  blows  and  ignominy,  from  his  own  house,  Jess's 
eyes  flashed,  and  she  positively  ground  her  teeth  with  in- 
dignation; and  as  for  her  feelings  when  she  learned  that 
he  was  condemned  to  death  and  to  be  shot  at  dawn  on  the 
morrow,  they  simply  baffle  description.  Of  the  Bessie 
complication  Jantje  was  quite  ignorant,  and  could  only 
tell  her  that  Frank  Muller  had  an  interview  with  her  sister 
in  the  little  plantation,  and  that  after  that  she  was  shut  up 
in  the  storeroom,  where  she  still  was.  But  this  was  quite 
enough  for  Jess,  who  knew  Muller's  character  better,  per- 
haps, than  anybody  else,  and  was  not  by  any  means  igno- 
rant of  his  designs  upon  Bessie.  A  few  moments'  thought 
put  the  key  of  the  matter  into  her  hand.  She  saw  now 
what  was  the  reason  of  the  granting  of  the  pass,  and  of 
the  determined  and  partially  successful  attempt  at  whole- 
sale murder  of  which  they  had  been  the  victims.  She  saw, 
too,  why  her  old  uncle  had  been  condemned  to  death — 
that  was  to  be  used  as  a  lever  with  Bessie;  the  man  was 
capable  even  of  that.  Yes,  she  saw  it  all  as  clear  as  day- 
light; and  in  her  heart  she  swore,  helpless  as  she  seemed 
to  be,  that  she  would  find  a  way  to  prevent  it.  But  what 
way?  what  way?  Ah,  if  only  John  were  here!  But  he 
was  not,  so  she  must  act  without  him,  if  only  she  could  see 
the  way  to  action.  She  thought  first  of  all  of  going  down 
boldly  and  facing  Muller,  and  denouncing  him  as  a  mur- 
derer before  his  men ;  but  a  moment's  reflection  showed 
that  this  was  impracticable.  For  his  own  safety  be  would 
be  obliged  to  stop  her  mouth  somehow,  and  the  best  she 
could  expect  would  be  to  be  incarcerated  and  rendered 


JESS.  305 

quite  powerless.  If  only  she  could  manage  to  communi- 
cate with  Bessie!  At  any  rate,  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  she  should  know  what  was  going  on.  She  might  as 
well  be  a  hundred  miles  away  as  a  hundred  yards. 

"  Jantje,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  where  the  Boers  are." 

"  Some  are  in  the  wagon-house,  missie,  some  are  on  sen- 
try, and  the  rest  are  down  by  the  wagon  they  brought 
with  them  and  outspanned  behind  the  gums  there.  The 
cart  is  there,  too,  that  came  just  before  you  did,  with  the 
clergyman  in  it." 

"  And  where  is  Frank  Muller  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  missie;  but  he  brought  a  round  tent 
with  him  in  the  wagon,  and  it  is  pitched  between  the  two 
big  gums." 

"  Jantje,  I  must  go  down  there  and  find  out  what  is  go- 
ing on,  and  you  must  come  with  me." 

"  You  will  be  caught,  missie.  There  is  a  sentry  at  the 
back  of  the  wagon-house  and  two  in  front.  But,"  he 
added,  "  perhaps  we  might  get  near.  I  will  go  out  and 
look  at  the  night." 

Presently  he  returned  and  said  that  a  "  small  rain  "  had 
come  on,  and  the  clouds  covered  up  the  stars  so  that  it  was 
very  dark. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  at  once,"  said  Jess. 

"Missie,  you  had  better  not  go,"  answered  the  Hotten- 
tot. "You  will  get  wet  and  the  Boers  will  catch  you. 
Better  let  me  go.  I  can  creep  about  like  a  snake,  and  if 
the  Boers  catch  me  it  won't  matter." 

"  You  must  come  too,  but  I  am  going.  I  must  find 
out." 

Then  the  Hottentot  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  yielded, 
and,  having  extinguished  the  candle,  silently  as  ghosts  they 
crept  out  into  the  night. 
20 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HE    SHALL   DIE. 

THE  night  was  still  and  very  dark.  A  soft,  cold  rain, 
such  as  one  often  gets  in  the  Wakkerstroom  and  New 
Scotland  districts  of  the  Transvaal,  and  which  more  re- 
sembles a  true  north-country  mist  than  anything  else,  was 
falling  gently  but  persistently.  This  condition  of  affairs 
was  as  favorable  as  possible  to  their  enterprise,  and  under 
cover  of  it  the  Hottentot  and  the  white  girl  crept  far  down 
the  hill  to  within  twelve  or  fourteen  paces  of  the  back  of 
the  wagon-house.  Then  Jantje,  who  was  leading,  sudden- 
ly put  back  his  hand  and  checked  her,  and  at  that  moment 
Jess  caught  the  sound  of  a  sentry's  footsteps  as  he  tramped 
leisurely  up  and  down.  For  a  couple  of  minutes  or  so 
they  stopped  thus,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  when  sudden- 
ly a  man  came  round  the  corner  of  the  building  holding  a 
lantern  in  his  hand.  On  seeing  the  lantern  Jess's  first  im- 
pulse was  to  fly,  but  Jantje,  by  a  motion,  made  her  under- 
stand that  she  was  to  stop  still.  The  man  with  the  lantern 
advanced  towards  the  other  man,  holding  the  light  above 
his  head,  and  looking  dim  and  gigantic  in  the  mist  and 
rain.  Presently  he  turned  his  face,  and  Jess  saw  that  it 
was  Frank  Muller  himself.  He  stood  thus  for  a  moment 
waiting  till  the  sentry  was  near  to  him. 

"  You  can  go  to  your  supper,"  he  said.  "  Come  back  in 
half  an  hour.  I  will  be  responsible  for  the  prisoners  till 
then." 

The  man  growled  out  an  answer,  something  about  the 
rain,  and  then  departed  round  the  end  of  the  building,  fol- 
lowed by  Muller. 


JESS.  307 

"  Now  then,  come  on,"  whispered  Jantj6  ;  "  there  is  a 
hole  in  the  storeroom  wall,  and  you  may  be  able  to  speak 
to  Missie  Bessie." 

Jess  did  not  require  a  second  invitation,  but  slipped  up 
to  the  wall  in  five  seconds.  Passing  her  hand  over  the 
stonework,  she  found  the  air-hole,  which  she  remembered 
well,  for  they  used  to  play  bo-peep  there  as  children,  and 
was  about  to  whisper  through  it,  when  suddenly  the  door 
at  the  other  end  opened,  and  Frank  Muller  entered,  bear- 
ing the  lantern  in  his  hand.  For  a  moment  he  stood  on 
the  threshold,  opening  the  slide  of  the  lantern  in  order  to 
increase  the  light.  His  hat  was  off,  and  he  had  a  cape  of 
dark  cloth  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  which  seemed  to  add 
to  his  great  breadth,  and  the  thought  flashed  through  the 
mind  of  Jess  as  she  looked  at  him  through  the  hole,  and 
the  light  struck  upon  his  face  and  form,  and  glinted  down 
his  golden  beard,  that  he  was  the  most  magnificent  speci- 
men of  humanity  she  had  ever  seen.  In  another  instant 
he  had  turned  the  lantern  round  and  revealed  her  dear  sis- 
ter Bessie  to  her  gaze.  Bessie  was  seated  upon  one  of  the 
half-empty  sacks  of  mealies,  apparently  half  asleep,  for 
she  opened  her  wide  blue  eyes  and  looked  round  appre- 
hensively like  one  suddenly  awakened.  Her  golden  curls 
were  in  disorder  and  falling  over  her  fair  forehead,  and 
her  face  was  very  pale  and  troubled,  and  marked  beneath 
the  eyes  with  deep  blue  lines.  Catching  sight  of  her  vis- 
itor, she  rose  hurriedly  and  retreated  as  far  from  him  as  the 
pile  of  sacks  and  potatoes  would  allow. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  gave  you 
my  answer.  Why  do  you  come  to  torment  me  again  ?" 

He  placed  the  lantern  upon  an  upright  sack  of  mealies, 
and  carefully  balanced  it  before  he  answered.  Jess  could 
see  that  he  was  taking  time  to  consider. 

"Let  us  recapitulate,"  he  said,  at  length,  in  his  full, 
rich  voice.  "  The  position  is  this.  I  gave  you  this  morn- 
ing the  choice  between  consenting  to  marry  me  to-mor- 


308  JESS. 

row,  and  seeing  your  old  uncle  and  benefactor  shot.  Fur- 
ther, I  assured  you  that  if  you  would  not  consent  to  marry 
me  your  uncle  should  be  shot,  and  that  I  would  then  make 
you  mine,  dispensing  with  the  ceremony  of  marriage.  Is 
that  not  so  ?" 

Bessie  made  no  answer,  and  he  continued,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  face  and  thoughtfully  stroking  his  beard. 

"Silence  gives  consent.  I  will  go  on.  Before  a  man 
can  be  shot  according  to  law  he  must  be  tried  and  con- 
demned according  to  law.  Your  uncle  has  been  tried  and 
has  been  condemned." 

"  I  heard  it  all,  cruel  murderer  that  you  are,"  said  Bes- 
sie, lifting  her  head  for  the  first  time. 

"  So !  I  thought  you  would,  through  the  crack.  That  is 
why  I  had  you  put  into  this  place;  it  would  not  have  looked 
well  to  bring  you  before  the  court,"  and  he  took  the  light 
and  examined  the  crevice.  "  This  place  is  badly  built,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  careless  tone  ;  "  look,  there  is  another  space 
there  at  the  back,"  and  he  actually  came  up  to  it  and  held 
the  lantern  close  to  it  so  that  the  light  from  it  shone  through 
into  Jess's  eyes  and  nearly  blinded  her.  She  shut  them 
quickly,  so  that  the  gleam  reflected  from  them  should  not 
betray  her,  and  then  held  her  breath  and  remained  as  still 
as  the  dead.  In  another  second  he  took  away  the  light 
and  replaced  it  on  the  mealie  bag. 

"So  you  say  you  saw  it  all.  Well,  it  must  have  shown 
you  that  I  was  in  earnest.  The  old  man  took  it  well,  did 
he  not  ?  He  is  a  brave  man,  and  I  respect  him.  I  fancy 
that  he  will  not  move  a  muscle  at  the  last.  That  comes  of 
English  blood,  you  see.  It  is  the  best  in  the  world,  and  I 
am  proud  to  have  it  in  my  veins."  ' 

"  Cannot  you  stop  torturing  me  and  say  what  you  have 
to  say  ?"  asked  Bessie. 

"  I  had  no  wish  to  torture  you,  but  if  you  like  I  will 
come  to  the  point.  It  is  this.  Will  you  now  consent  to 
marry  me  to-morrow  morning  at  sun-up,  or  am  I  to  be 


JESS.  309 

forced  to  carry  the  sentence  on  your  old  uncFe  into  ef- 
fect ?" 

"  I  will  not.     I  will  not.     I  hate  you  and  defy  you." 

Muller  looked  at  her  coldly,  and  then  drew  his  pocket- 
book  from  his  pocket  and  extracted  from  it  the  death-war- 
rant and  a  pencil. 

"Look,  Bessie,"  he  said.  "This  is  your  uncle's  death- 
warrant.  At  present  it  is  valueless  and  informal,  for  I 
have  not  yet  signed,  though,  as  you  will  see,  I  have  been 
careful  that  everybody  else  should.  If  once  I  place  my 
signature  there  it  cannot  be  revoked,  and  the  sentence 
must  be  carried  into  effect.  If  you  persist  in  your  re- 
fusal I  will  sign  it  before  your  eyes,"  and  he  placed  the 
paper  on  the  book  and  took  the  pencil  in  his  right  hand. 

"  Oh,  you  cannot,  you  cannot  be  such  a  fiend,"  wailed 
the  wretched  woman,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  I  assure  you  you  are  mistaken.  I  both  can  and  will. 
I  have  gone  too  far  to  turn  back  for  the  sake  of  one  old 
Englishman.  Listen,  Bessie.  Your  lover  Niel  is  dead, 
that  you  know." 

Here  Jess  behind  the  wall  felt  inclined  to  cry  out  "  It  is 
a  lie  !"  but.  remembering  the  absolute  necessity  of  silence, 
checked  herself. 

"  And  what  is  more,"  went  on  Muller,  "  your  sister  Jess 
is  dead  too  ;  she  died  two  days  ago." 

"  Jess  dead  !  Jess  dead  !  It  is  not  true.  How  do  you 
know  that  she  is  dead  ?" 

"  Never  mind  ;  I  will  tell  you  when  we  are  married. 
She  is  dead,  and  except  for  your  uncle  you  are  alone  in 
the  world.  If  you  persist  in  this  he  will  soon  be  dead  too, 
and  his  blood  will  be  upon  your  head,  for  you  will  have 
murdered  him." 

"  And  if  I  were  to  say  yes,  how  would  that  help  him  ?" 
she  cried,  wildly.  "  He  is  condemned  by  your  court-mar- 
tial—  you  would  only  deceive  me  and  murder  him  after 
all." 


310  JESS. 

"  On  my  honor,  no.  Before  the  marriage  I  will  give 
this  warrant  to  the  pastor,  and  he  shall  burn  it  as  soon  as 
the  service  is  said.  But,  Bessie,  don't  you  see  that  these 
fools  who  tried  your  uncle  are  only  like  clay  in  my  hands  ? 
I  can  bend  them  this  way  and  that,  and  whatever  the  song 
I  sing  they  will  echo  it.  They  do  not  wish  to  shoot  your 
uncle,  and  will  be  glad,  indeed,  to  get  out  of  it.  Your 
uncle  shall  go  in  safety  to  Natal,  or  stay  here  if  he  wills. 
His  property  shall  be  secured  for  him,  and  compensation 
paid  for  the  burning  of  his  house.  I  swear  it  before 
God." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  in- 
clined to  believe  him. 

"It  is  true, Bessie,  it  is  true  —  I  will  rebuild  the  place 
myself,  and  if  I  can  find  the  man  who  fired  it  he  shall  be 
shot.  Come,  listen  to  me,  and  be  reasonable.  The  man 
you  loved  is  dead,  and  no  amount  of  sighing  can  bring  him 
to  your  arms.  I  alone  am  left — I,  who  love  you  better  than 
life,  better  than  man  ever  loved  a  woman  before.  Look  at 
me,  am  I  not  a  proper  man  for  any  maid  to  wed,  though  I 
be  half  a  Boer?  And  I  have  the  brains,  too,  Bessie,  the 
brains  that  shall  make  us  both  great.  We  were  made  for 
each  other — I  have  known  it  for  years,  and  slowly,  slowly, 
I  have  worked  my  way  to  you  till  at  last  you  are  in  my 
reach,"  and  he  stretched  out  both  his  arms  towards  her. 

"  My  darling,"  he  went  on,  in  a  soft,  half-dreamy  voice, 
"  my  love  and  my  desire,  yield,  now — yield  !  Do  not  force 
this  new  crime  upon  me.  I  want  to  grow  good  for  your 
sake,  and  have  done  with  bloodshed.  When  you  are  my 
wife  I  believe  that  the  evil  will  go  out  of  me,  and  I  shall 
grow  good.  Yield,  and  never  shall  woman  have  had  such 
a  husband  as  I  will  be  to  you.  I  will  make  your  life  soft 
and  beautiful  to  you  as  women  love  life  to  be.  You  shall 
have  everything  that  money  can  buy  and  power  bring. 
Yield  for  your  uncle's  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  great 
love  I  bear  you." 


JESS.  311 

As  he  spoke  he  was  slowly  drawing  nearer  Bessie,  whose 
face  wore  a  half-fascinated  expression.  As  he  came  the 
wretched  woman  gathered  herself  together  and  put  out  her 
hand  to  repulse  him.  "No,  no,"  she  cried,  "  I  hate  you — 
I  cannot  be  false  to  him,  living  or  dead.  I  shall  kill  my- 
self—I  know  I  shall." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  simply  came  always  nearer  till 
at  last  his  strong  arms  closed  round  her  shrinking  form  and 
drew  her  to  him  as  easily  as  though  she  were  a  babe.  And 
then  all  at  once  she  seemed  to  yield.  That  embrace  was 
the  outward  sign  of  his  cruel  mastery,  and  she  struggled 
no  more,  mentally  or  physically. 

"  Will  you  marry  me,  darling  —  will  you  marry  me  ?" 
he  whispered,  with  his  lips  so  close  to  the  golden  curls 
that  Jess,  straining  her  ears  outside,  could  only  just  catch 
the  words — 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so  ;  but  I  shall  die — it  will  kill  me." 

He  strained  her  to  his  heart  and  kissed  her  beautiful 
face  again  and  again,  and  next  moment  Jess  heard  the 
footsteps  of  the  returning  sentry  and  saw  him  release  her. 
Jantje,  too,  caught  her  by  the  hand  and  dragged  her  away 
from  the  wall,  and  in  ten  seconds  more  she  was  once 
more  ascending  the  hillside  towards  the  Hottentot's  ken- 
nel. She  had  gone  to  find  out  how  matters  lay,  and  she 
had,  indeed,  found  out.  To  attempt  to  portray  the  fury, 
the  indignation,  and  the  thirst  to  be  avenged  upon  the 
fiend  who  had  attempted  to  murder  her  and  her  lover,  and 
had  bought  her  dear  sister's  honor  at  the  price  of  her  in- 
nocent old  uncle's  life,  would  be  impossible.  All  her  weari- 
ness was  forgotten  ;  she  was  mad  with  what  she  had  seen 
and  heard,  with  the  knowledge  of  what  had  been  done  and 
what  was  about  to  be  done.  She  even  forgot  her  passion 
in  it,  and  swore  that  Muller  should  never  marry  Bessie 
while  she  lived  to  prevent  it.  Had  she  been  a  bad  woman 
she  might  have  seen  herein  an  opportunity,  for,  Bessie  once 
married  to  Muller,  John  would  be  free  to  marry  her,  but 


312  JESS. 

the  idea  never  even  entered  her  mind.  Whatever  Jess's 
errors  may  have  been  she  was  a  self-sacrificing,  honorable 
woman,  and  would  have  died  rather  than  take  such  an  ad- 
vantage. Presently  they  reached  the  shelter  again  and 
crept  in. 

"  Light  a  candle,"  said  Jess. 

Jantje  fumbled  about  and  finally  struck  a  match.  The 
bit  of  candle  they  had  been  using,  however,  was  nearly 
burned  out,  so  from  the  rubbish  in  the  corner  he  produced 
a  box  full  of  "  ends,"  some  of  them  three  or  four  inches 
long.  Jess,  in  that  queer  sort  of  way  in  which  trifles  do 
strike  us  when  the  mind  is  undergoing  a  severe  strain,  in- 
stantly remembered  that  for  years  she  had  been  unable  to 
discover  what  became  of  the  odd  pieces  of  the  candles  used 
in  the  house.  Now  the  mystery  was  explained. 

"  Now  go  outside  and  leave  me.     I  want  to  think." 

The  Hottentot  obeyed,  and,  seated  there  upon  the  heap 
of  skins,  her  forehead  resting  on  her  hand  and  her  fingers 
run  through  her  silky  hair,  now  wet  with  the  rain,  she  be- 
gan to  review  the  position.  It  was  evident  to  her  that 
Frank  Muller  would  be  as  good  as  his  word.  She  knew 
him  too  well  to  doubt  it  for  a  moment.  If  Bessie  did  not 
marry  him  he  would  murder  the  old  man,  as  he  had  tried 
to  murder  her  and  John,  only  this  time  judicially,  and  then 
abduct  her  afterwards.  Bessie  was  the  only  price  that  he 
was  prepared  to  take  in  exchange  for  her  uncle's  life. 
But  it  was  impossible  to  allow  Bessie  to  be  so  sacrificed  ; 
the  thought  was  horrible  to  her. 

How,  then,  was  it  to  be  prevented  ?  She  thought  again 
of  going  down  and  confronting  Frank  Muller,  and  openly 
accusing  him  of  her  attempted  murder,  only,  however,  to 
dismiss  the  idea.  Who  would  believe  her  ?  and  if  they  did 
believe,  what  good  would  it  do?  She  would  only  be  im- 
prisoned and  kept  out  of  harm's  way,  or  possibly  murdered 
without  further  ado.  Then  she  thought  of  attempting  to 
communicate  with  her  uncle  and  Bessie,  to  tell  them  that 


•  JESS.  313 

John  was,  so  far  as  she  knew,  alive,  only  to  recognize  the 
impossibility  of  doing  so  now  that  the  sentry  was  back. 
Besides,  what  object  could  be  served  ?  The  knowledge 
that  John  was  alive  might,  it  is  true,  nerve  up  Bessie  to 
resist  Muller,  but  then  the  sole  result  would  be  that  the 
old  man  would  be  shot.  Dismissing  this  from  her  mind, 
she  began  to  consider  whether  they  could  obtain  assistance. 
Alas  !  it  was  impossible.  The  only  people  from  whom 
she  could  hope  for  help  would  be  the  natives,  and  now 
that  the  Boers  had  triumphed  over  the  English  (for  this 
much  she  had  gathered  from  her  captors  and  from  Jantje), 
it  was  very  doubtful  if  they  would  dare  to  help  her.  Be- 
sides, at  the  best  it  would  take  twenty-four  hours  to  col- 
lect a  force,  and  that  would  be  too  late.  The  thing  was 
hopeless.  Nowhere  could  she  see  a  ray  of  light. 

"  What,"  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  "  what  is  there  in  the 
world  that  will  stop  a  man  like  Frank  Muller  ?" 

And  then  all  of  an  instant  the  answer  rose  up  in  her 
brain  as  though  through  an  inspiration — 

"Death!" 

Death,  and  death  alone,  would  stop  him.  For  a  minute 
she  kept  the  idea  in  her  mind  till  she  was  familiarized  with 
it,  and  then  it  was  driven  out  by  another  that  followed 
swiftly  on  its  track.  Frank  Muller  must  die,  and  die  be- 
fore the  morning  light.  By  no  other  possible  means 
could  the  Gordian  knot  be  cut,  and  both  Bessie  and  her 
old  uncle  saved.  If  he  were  dead  he  could  not  marry  Bes- 
sie, and  if  he  died  with  the  warrant  unsigned  their  uncle 
could  not  be  executed.  That  was  the  answer  to  the  riddle, 
and  a  terrible  one  it  was. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  just  that  he  should  die,  for  had  he 
not  murdered  and  attempted  murder?  Surely  if  ever  a 
man  deserved  a  swift  and  awful  doom  it  was  Frank  Muller. 

And  so  this  apparently  helpless  girl,  crouched  upon  the 
ground  a  torn  and  bespattered  fugitive  in  the  miserable 
hiding-hole  of  a  Hottentot,  arraigned  the  powerful  leader 


814  JESS. 

of  men  before  the  tribunal  of  her  conscience,  and  without 
pity,  if  without  wrath,  passed  upon  him  a  sentence  of  ex- 
tinction. 

But  who  was  to  be  the  executioner  ?  A  dreadful  thought 
flashed  into  her  mind  and  made  her  heart  stand  still,  but 
she  dismissed  it*  She  had  not  come  to  that  yet.  Her  eyes 
wandered  round  the  kennel  and  lit  upon  Jantje's  assegais 
and  sticks  in  the  corner,  and  then  she  got  another  inspira- 
tion. Jantje  should  do  the  deed.  John  had  told  her  one 
day — told  her,  when  they  were  sitting  together  in  "  The 
Palatial "  at  Pretoria — the  whole  of  Jantje's  awful  story 
about  the  massacre  of  his  relatives  by  Frank  Muller  twenty 
years  before,  of  which,  indeed,  she  already  knew  some- 
thing. It  would  be  most  fitting  that  this  fiend  should  be 
removed  off  the  face  of  the  earth  by  the  survivor  of  those 
unfortunates.  There  would  be  a  little  poetic  justice  about 
that,  and  it  is  so  rare  in  the  world.  But  the  question  was, 
would  he  do  it  ?  The  little  man  was  a  wonderful  coward, 
that  she  knew,  and  had  a  great  terror  of  Boers,  and  espe- 
cially of  Frank  Muller. 

"  Jantje,"  she  whispered,  putting  her  head  towards  the 
bee-hole. 

"  Yes,  missie,"  answered  a  hoarse  voice  outside,  and  next 
second  his  monkey-like  face  came  creeping  into  the  ring 
of  light,  followed  by  his  even  more  monkey-like  form. 

"  Sit  down  there,  Jantje.  I  am  lonely  here,  and  want  to 
talk." 

He  obeyed  her,  with  a  grin.  "What  shall  we  talk 
about,  missie.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  story  of  the  time  when 
the  beasts  used  to  speak  like  I  used  to  do  years  and  years 
ago  ?" 

"  No,  Jantje.  Tell  me  about  that  stick — that  long  stick 
with  a  knob  on  the  top,  and  the  nicks  cut  on  it.  Has  it 
not  something  to  do  with  Frank  Muller  ?" 

The  Hottentot's  face  instantly  grew  evil.  "  Yah,  yah, 
missie!"  he  said,  reaching  out  a  skinny  claw  and  seizing 


JESS.  315 

the  stick.  "  Look,  that  big  notch,  that  is  my  father,  Baas 
Frank  shot  him ;  and  that  next  notch,  that  is  my  mother, 
Baas  Frank  shot  her;  and  the  next  one,  that  is  my  uncle, 
an  old,  old  man,  Baas  Frank  shot  him  too.  And  these 
small  notches,  they  are  when  he  has  beaten  me — yes,  and 
other  things  too.  And  now  I  will  make  more  notches — 
one  for  the  house  that  is  burned,  and  one  for  the  old  Baas 
Croft,  my  own  baas,  whom  he  is  going  to  shoot,  and  one 
for  Missie  Bessie."  And  without  further  ado  he  drew  from 
his  side  a  very  large  white-handled  hunting-knife,  and  began 
to  cut  them  then  and  there  upon  the  hard  wood  of  the  stick. 

Jess  knew  this  knife  of  old.  It  was  Jantje's  peculiar 
treasure,  the  chief  joy  of  his  narrow  little  heart.  He  had 
bought  it  from  a  Zulu  for  a  heifer  which  her  uncle  had 
given  him  in  lieu  of  half  a  year's  wage.  The  Zulu  had 
got  it  from  a  man  who  came  down  from  beyond  Delagoa 
Bay.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  a  Samali  knife,  manufac- 
tured from  soft  native  steel  (which  takes  an  edge  like  a 
razor),  and  with  a  handle  cut  from  the  tusk  of  a  hippopot- 
amus. For  the  rest,  it  was  about  a  foot  long,  with  three 
grooves  running  the  length  of  the  blade,  and  very  heavy. 

"  Stop  cutting  notches,  Jantje,  and  let  me  look  at  that 
knif.e." 

He  obeyed,  and  put  it  into  her  hand. 

"  That  knife  would  kill  a  man,  Jantje,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered;  "no  doubt  it  has  killed  many 
men." 

"It  would  kill  Frank  Muller,  now,  would  it  not?"  she 
said,  suddenly  bending  forward  and  fixing  her  dark  eyes 
upon  the  little  man's  jaundiced  orbs. 

"Yah,  yah,"  he  said,  starting  back,  "it  would  kill  him 
dead.  Ah!  what  a  thing  it  would  be  to  kill  him,"  he 
added,  with  a  fierce  half-sniggle,  half-laugh. 

"  He  killed  your  father,  Jantje." 

"  Yah,  yah,  he  killed  my  father,"  said  Jantje,  his  eyes 
beginning  to  roll  with  rage. 


316  JESS. 

"  He  killed  your  mother." 

"  Yah,  he  killed  my  mother,"  he  repeated  after  her,  with 
eager  ferocity. 

"  And  your  uncle.     He  killed  your  uncle." 

"  And  my  uncle,  too,"  he  went  on,  shaking  his  fist  and 
twitching  his  long  toes  as  his  voice  rose  to  a  sort  of  sub- 
dued scream.  "  But  he  will  die  in  blood — the  old  English- 
woman, his  mother,  said  it  when  the  devil  was  in  her,  and 
the  devils  never  lie.  Look!  I  draw  Baas  Frank's  circle 
in  the  dust  with  my  toe,  and  listen,  I  say  the  words — I  say 
the  words,"  and  he  muttered  something  rapidly;  "  an  old, 
old  witch-doctor  taught  me  how  to  do  it,  and  what  to  say. 
Once  before  I  did  it,  and  there  was  a  stone  in  the  way ; 
now  there  is  no  stone;  look,  the  ends  meet.  He  will  die 
in  blood!  he  will  die  soon.  I  know  how  to  read  the  cir- 
cle," and  he  gnashed  his  teeth  and  sawed  the  air  with  his 
clinched  fists. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  Jantje,"  she  said,  still  holding  him 
with  her  dark  eyes.  "  He  will  die  in  blood,  and  he  shall 
die  to-night,  and  you  will  kill  him,  Jantje." 

The  Hottentot  started,  and  turned  pale  under  his  yellow 
skin. 

"How?"  he  said;  "how?" 

"Bend  forward,  Jantje,  and  I  will  tell  you  how;"  and 
she  whispered  for  some  minutes  into  his  ear. 

"Yes!  yes!  yes!"  he  said,  when  she  had  done.  "Oh, 
what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  clever,  like  the  white  people! 
I  will  kill  him  to-night,  and  then  I  can  cut  out  the  notches, 
and  the  ghosts  of  my  father  and  my  mother  and  my  uncle 
will  stop  howling  round  me  in  the  night  as  they  do  now 
when  I  am  asleep." 


CHAPTER  XXXIH. 

VENGEANCE. 

FOB  three  or  four  minutes  more  they  whispered  togeth- 
er, after  which  the  Hottentot  rose  to  go  and  find  out  how 
things  were  among  the  Boers  below,  and  see  when  Frank 
Muller  retired  to  his  tent.  As  soon  as  he  had  marked  him 
down  he  was  to  come  back  and  report  to  Jess,  and  then 
the  final  steps  were  to  be  decided  on. 

When  he  was  gone  Jess  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  This 
stirring  up  of  Jantje  to  the  boiling-point  of  vengeance  had 
been  a  dreadful  thing  to  nerve  herself  to  do;  but  now,  at 
any  rate,  it  was  done,  and  the  deed  settled  upon.  But  what 
the  end  of  it  would  be  none  could  say.  She  would  prac- 
tically be  a  murderess,  and  she  felt  sooner  or  later  her  guilt 
would  find  her  out,  and  then  she  would  have  little  mercy 
to  hope  for.  Still  she  had  no  scruples,  for  after  all  Frank 
Muller's  would  be  a  well-merited  doom.  But  when  all 
was  said  and  done  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  forced  to 
steep  her  hands  in  blood,  even  for  Bessie's  sake.  If  Mul- 
ler were  slain  Bessie  would  marry  John,  provided  John 
escaped  from  the  Boers,  and  be  happy;  but  what  would 
become  of  her  ?  Robbed  of  her  love,  and  with  this  crime 
upon  her  mind,  what  could  she  do,  even  if  she  escaped — 
except  die  ?  It  would  be  better  to  die  and  never  see  him 
again,  for  her  sorrow  and  her  shame  were  more  than  she 
could  bear.  And  then  she  began  to  think  of  John  till  all 
her  poor,  bruised  heart  seemed  to  go  out  towards  him. 
Bessie  could  never  love  him  as  she  did,  she  felt  sure  of 
that,  and  yet  Bessie  was  to  have  him  by  her  all  her  life, 


318  JESS. 

and  she — she  was  to  go  away.  Well,  it  was  the  only  thing 
to  do.  She  would  see  this  deed  done,  and  set  her  sister 
free,  and  then  if  she  happened  to  escape  she  would  go — go 
right  away,  where  she  would  never  be  heard  of  again. 
Then,  at  any  rate,  she  would  have  behaved  like  an  honor- 
able woman.  She  sat  up  and  put  her  hands  to  her  face. 
It  was  burning  hot,  though  she  was  wet  through,  and 
chilled  to  the  bone  with  the  raw  damp  of  the  night.  A 
fierce  fever  of  mind  and  body  had  taken  hold  of  her,  worn 
out  as  she  was  with  emotion,  hunger,  and  protracted  ex- 
posure. But  her  brain  was  clear  enough;  she  never  re- 
membered its  being  so  clear  before.  Every  thought  that 
came  into  her  mind  seemed  to  present  itself  with  startling 
vividness,  standing  out  by  itself  against  a  black  back- 
ground of  nothingness,  not  softened  and  shaded  down 
one  into  another  as  thoughts  generally  are.  She  seemed 
to  see  herself  wandering  away — alone,  utterly  alone,  alone 
forever  ! — while  in  the  far  distance  John  stood  holding 
Bessie  by  the  hand  and  gazing  after  her  regretfully.  Well, 
she  would  write  to  him,  since  it  must  be  so,  and  bid  him 
one  word  of  farewell.  She  could  not  go  without  it.  She 
had  a  pencil,  and  in  the  breast  of  her  dress  was  the  Boer 
pass,  the  back  of  which,  stained  as  it  was  with  water,  would 
serve  the  purpose  of  paper.  She  drew  it  out  and,  bending 
forward  towards  the  light,  placed  it  on  her  knees. 

"Good-bye,"  she  wrote,  "good-bye!  We  can  never 
meet  again,  and  it  is  better  that  we  never  should,  in  this 
world.  Whether  there  is  another  I  do  not  know.  If  there 
is,  I  shall  wait  for  you  there.  If  not,  then  good-bye  for- 
ever. Think  of  me  sometimes,  for  I  have  loved  you  very 
dearly,  and  as  nobody  will  ever  love  you  again;  and  while 
I  live  in. this  or  any  other  world,  and  am  myself,  I  shall 
always  love  you  and  you  only.  Don't  forget  me.  I  never 
shall  be  really  dead  to  you  until  I  am  forgotten.  J." 

She  lifted  the  paper  off  her  knee  and  then  put  it  back 
again  and  began  to  scribble  in  verse,  quickly  and  almost 


JESS.  319 

without  correction.  It  was  a  habit  of  hers,  though  she 
never  showed  what  she  wrote,  and  now  it  asserted  itself 
irresistibly  and  half  unconsciously — 

"  When  hands  that  clasp  thine  own  in  seeming  truth, 
Or  linger  in  caress  upon  thy  head, 
Have  rudely  broke  the  idols  of  thy  youth 
And  cast  them  down  amid  thy  treasured  dead, 
Remember  me — " 

When  she  had  got  thus  far  she  stopped,  dissatisfied,  and, 
running  her  pencil  through  the  lines,  began  afresh — 

"  If  I  should  die  to-night 
Then  would'st  thou  look  upon  my  quiet  face, 
Before  they  laid  me  in  my  resting-place, 
And  deem  that  death  had  made  it  almost  fair ; 

"  And  laying  snow-white  flowers  against  my  hair 
Would'st  on  my  cold  cheek  tender  kisses  press 
And  fold  my  hands  with  lingering  caress, 
Poor  hands,  so  empty  and  so  cold  to-night ! 

"  If  I  should  die  to-night 

Then  would'st  thou  call  to  mind  with  loving  thought 
Some  kindly  deed  the  icy  hands  had  wrought, 
Some  tender  words  the  frozen  lips  had  said, 
Errands  on  which  the  willing  feet  had  sped : 
The  memory  of  my  passion  and  my  pride, 
And  every  fault  would  sure  be  set  aside. 
So  should  I  be  forgiven  of  all  to-night. 

"Death  waits  on  me  to-night, 
E'en  now  my  summons  echoes  from  afar, 
And  grave  mists  gather  fast  about  my  star — 
Think  gently  of  me  ;  I  am  travel-worn, 
My  faltering  feet  are  pierced  with  many  a  thorn, 
The  bitter  world  has  made  my  faint  heart  bleed. 
When  dreamless  rest  is  mine  I  shall  not  need 
The  tenderness  for  which  I  long  to-night !" 

She  stopped,  apparently  more  because  she  had  got  to 
the  end  of  the  paper  than  for  any  other  reason,  and,  with- 
out even  rereading  what  she  had  written,  pushed  the  pass 
back  into  her  bosom  and  was  soon  lost  in  thought. 


320  JESS. 

Ten  minutes  later  Jantje  came  creeping  in  to  where  she 
sat,  like  a  great  snake  in  human  form,  his  yellow  face  shin- 
ing with  the  rain-drops. 

"Well,"  whispered  Jess,  looking  up  with  a  start,  "have 
you  done  it  ?" 

"  No,  missie,  no.  Baas  Frank  has  but  now  gone  to  his 
tent.  He  has  been  talking  to  the  clergyman,  something 
about  Missie  Bessie,  I  don't  know  what.  I  was  near,  but 
he  talked  low  and  I  could  only  hear  the  name." 

"  Have  the  Boers  all  gone  to  sleep  ?" 

"  All,  missie,  except  the  sentries." 

"  Is  there  a  sentry  before  Baas  Frank's  tent  ?" 

"  No,  missie,  there  is  nobody  near." 

"  What  is  the  time,  Jantje  ?" 

"  About  three  hours  and  a  half  after  sundown  "  (half- 
past  ten). 

"  Let  us  wait  half  an  hour,  and  then  you  must  go." 

Accordingly  they  sat  in  silence.  In  silence  they  sat 
facing  each  other  and  their  own  thoughts.  Presently 
Jantje  broke  it  by  drawing  the  big  white-handled  knife 
and  commencing  to  sharpen  it  on  a  piece  of  leather. 

The  sight  made  Jess  feel  sick.  "  Put  the  knife  up,"  she 
said,  quickly,  "  it  is  sharp  enough." 

Jantje  obeyed  with  a  feeble  grin,  and  the  minutes  passed 
on  heavily. 

"  Now,  Jantje,"  she  said,  at  length,  speaking  huskily  in 
her  struggle  to  overcome  the  spasmodic  contractions  of 
her  throat,  "  it  is  time  for  you  to  go." 

The  Hottentot  fidgeted  about,  and  at  last  spoke. 

"  Missie  must  come  with  me  !" 

" Come  with  you  !"  answered  Jess,  with  a  start;  "  why  ?" 

"  Because  the  ghost  of  the  old  Englishwoman  will  come 
after  me  if  I  go  alone." 

"  You  fool !"  said  Jess,  angrily,  and  then  recollecting 
herself,  added,  "  Come,  be  a  man,  Jantje  ;  think  of  your 
father  and  mother,  and  be  a  man." 


JESS.  321 

"  I  am  a  man,"  be  answered,  sulkily,  "  and  I  will  kill 
him  like  a  man,  but  what  good  is  a  man  agiinst  the  ghost 
of  a  dead  Englishwoman  ?  If  I  put  the  knife  into  her  she 
would  only  make  faces,  and  fire  would  come  out  of  the 
hole.  I  will  not  go  without  you,  missie." 

"  You  must  go,"  she  said,  fiercely  ;  "  you  shall  go  !" 

"  No,  missie,  I  will  not  go  alone,"  he  answered. 

Jess  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  he  meant  what  he  said. 
He  was  getting  sulky,  and  the  worst-dispositioned  donkey 
in  the  world  is  far,  far  easier  to  deal  with  than  a  sulky 
Hottentot.  She  must  either  give  up  the  project  or  go 
with  the  man.  Well,  she  was  equally  guilty  one  way  or 
the  other,  and  was  really  almost  callous  about  being  de- 
tected, so  she  might  as  well  go.  She  had  no  power  left 
to  make  fresh  plans.  Her  mind  seemed  to  be  exhausted. 
Only  she  must  keep  out  of  the  way  at  the  last.  She  could 
not  bear  to  be  near  then. 

"  Well,"  she  said, "  I  will  go  with  you,  Jantje." 

"  Good,  missie,  that  is  all  right  now.  You  can  keep  off 
the  ghost  of  the  dead  Englishwoman  while  I  kill  Baas 
Frank.  But  first  he  must  be  fast  asleep.  Fast,  fast 
asleep." 

Then  slowly  and  with  the  uttermost  caution  they  once 
more  crept  down  the  hill.  This  time  there  was  no  light 
to  be  seen  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon-house,  and  no 
sound  to  be  heard  except  the  regular  tramp  of  the  sen- 
tries. But  their  business  did  not  lie  in  the  direction  of 
the  wagon-house  ;  they  left  that  on  their  right  and  curved 
round  towards  the  blue -gum  avenue.  When  they  got 
nearly  opposite  to  the  first  tree  they  halted  in  a  patch  of 
stones,  and  Jantje  went  forward  to  reconnoitre.  Present- 
ly he  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  all  the  Boers  who 
were  with  the  wagon  had  gone  to  sleep,  but  that  Muller 
was  still  sitting  in  his  tent,  thinking.  Then  they  crept  on, 
perfectly  sure  that  if  they  were  not  heard  they  would  not 
be  seen,  curtained  as  they  were  by  the  dense  mist  and  dark- 
21 


322  JESS. 

ness,  till  at  length  they  reached  the  bole  of  the  first  big 
gum-tree.  Five  paces  from  this  tree  Frank  Mailer's  tent 
was  pitched.  It  had  a  light  in  it  which  caused  the  wet 
tent  to  glow  in  the  mist,  as  though  it  had  been  rubbed 
with  phosphorus,  and  on  this  lurid  canvas  the  shadow  of 
Frank  Muller  was  gigantically  limned.  He  was  so  placed 
that  the  light  cast  a  magnified  reflection  of  his  every  feat- 
ure and  even  of  his  expression  upon  the  screen  before 
them.  The  attitude  in  which  he  was  seated  was  his  fa- 
vorite one  when  he  was  plunged  in  thought,  his  hands 
resting  on  his  knees  and  his  gaze  fixed  on  vacancy.  He 
was  thinking  of  his  triumph,  and  of  all  that  he  had  gone 
through  to  win  it,  and  of  all  that  it  would  bring  him.  He 
held  the  trump  cards  now,  and  the  game  was  in  his  own 
hand.  He  had  triumphed,  and  yet  over  him  hung  the 
shadow  of  that  curse  that  dogs  the  presence  of  our  accom- 
plished desires.  Too  often,  even  with  the  innocent,  does 
the  seed  of  our  destruction  lurk  in  the  rich  blossom  of  our 
hopes,  and  much  more  is  this  so  with  the  guilty.  Some- 
how this  thought  was  present  in  his  mind  to-night,  and  in 
a  rough,  half-educated  way  he  grasped  its  truth.  Once 
more  the  saying  of  the  old  Boer  general  rose  in  his  mind. 
"I  believe  that  there  is  a  God — I  believe  that  God  sets  a 
limit  to  a  man's  doings.  If  he  is  going  too  far,  God  kills 
him." 

What  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be  if  the  old  fool  were 
right  after  all !  Supposing  that  there  were  a  God,  and 
God  were  to  kill  him  to-night,  and  hurry  off  his  soul,  if  he 
had  one,  to  some  dim  place  of  unending  fear  !  All  his  su- 
perstitions awoke  at  the  thought,  and  he  shivered  so  vio- 
lently that  the  shadow  of  the  shiver  caused  the  outlines 
of  the  gigantic  form  upon  the  canvas  to  tremble  up  and 
down. 

Then,  rising  with  an  angry  curse,  he  hastily  threw  off 
his  outer  clothing,  and  having  turned  down  but  not  extin- 
guished the  rough  paraffine  lamp,  flung  himself  upon  the 


JESS.  323 

little  camp  bedstead,  which  creaked  and  groaned  beneath 
his  weight  like  a  thing  in  pain. 

Then  came  silence,  only  broken  by  the  drip,  drip,  of  the 
rain  from  the  gum  leaves  overhead  and  the  rattling  of  the 
boughs  whenever  a  breath  of  air  stirred  them.  It  was  an 
eerie  and  depressing  night,  a  night  that  might  well  have 
tried  the  nerves  of  any  strong  man  who,  wet  through  and 
worn-out,  had  been  obliged  to  crouch  upon  the  open  and 
endure  it.  How  much  more  awful  was  it,  then,  to  the  un- 
fortunate woman  who,  half  broken-hearted,  fever-stricken, 
and  well-nigh  crazed  with  suffering  of  mind  and  body, 
waited  in  it  to  see  murder  done  !  Slowly  the  minutes 
passed,  and  at  every  rain-drop  or  rustle  of  a  bough  her 
guilty  conscience  summoned  up  a  host  of  fears.  But  by 
the  mere  power  of  her  will  she  kept  them  down.  She 
would  go  through  with  it.  Yes,  she  would  go  through 
with  it.  Surely  he  must  be  asleep  by  now  ! 

,They  crept  up  to  the  tent  and  placed  their  ears  within 
two  inches  of  his  head.  Yes,  he  was  asleep  ;  the  sound  of 
his  breathing  rose  and  fell  with  the  regularity  of  an  in- 
fant's. 

Jess  turned  round  and  touched  her  companion  upon  the 
shoulder.  He  did  not  move,  but  she  felt  that  his  arm  was 
shaking. 

"  Nbic,"  she  whispered. 

Still  he  hung  back.  It  was  evident  to  her  that  the  long 
waiting  had  taken  the  courage  out  of  him. 

"  Be  a  man,"  she  whispered  again,  so  low  that  the  sound 
scarcely  reached  his  ears  although  her  lips  were  almost 
touching  them,  "  go,  and  mind  you  strike  home  !" 

Then  at  last  she  heard  him  softly  draw  the  great  knife 
from  the  sheath,  and  in  another  second  he  had  glided  from 
her  side.  Presently  she  saw  the  line  of  light  that  cut  out 
upon  the  darkness  through  the  opening  of  the  tent  broaden 
a  little,  and  by  that  she  knew  that  he  was  creeping  in  upon 
his  dreadful  errand.  Then  she  turned  her  head  and  put 


324  JESS. 

her  fingers  in  her  ears.  But  even  so  she  could  see  a  long 
line  of  shadow  travelling  across  the  skirt  of  the  tent.  So 
she  shut  her  eyes  also,  and  waited,  sick  at  heart,  for  she 
did  not  dare  to  move. 

Presently — it  might  have  been  five  minutes  or  only  half 
a  minute  afterwards,  for  she  had  lost  count  of  time,  she 
felt  somebody  touch  her  on  the  arm.  It  was  Jantje. 

"  Ts  it  done  ?"  she  whispered  again. 

He  shook  his  head  and  drew  her  away  from  the  tent. 
In  going  her  foot  caught  in  one  of  the  guide-ropes  and 
shook  it  slightly. 

"  I  could  not  do  it,  missie,  he  said.  He  is  asleep  and 
looks  just  like  a  child.  When  I  lifted  the  knife  he  smiled 
in  his  sleep,  and  all  the  strength  went  out  of  my  arm,  so 
that  I  could  not  strike.  And  then  before  I  could  get  strong 
again  the  ghost  of  the  old  Englishwoman  came  and  hit 
me  in  the  back,  and  I  ran  away." 

If  a  look  could  have  blasted  a  man  Jantje  would  as- 
suredly have  been  blasted  then.  The  man's  cowardice 
made  her  mad,  but  while  she  still  choked  with  wrath  a 
duiker  buck,  which  had  come  down  from  its  stony  home 
to  feed  upon  the  rose-bushes,  suddenly  sprang  with  a  crash 
almost  from  their  feet,  passing  away  like  a  gray  gleam 
into  the  utter  darkness. 

Jess  started  and  then  recovered  herself,  guessing  what 
it  was,  but  the  miserable  Hottentot  was  overcome  with 
terror,  and  fell  upon  the  ground  groaning  out  that  it  was 
the  ghost  of  the  old  Englishwoman.  He  had  dropped 
the  knife  as  he  fell,  and  Jess,  seeing  the  imminent  peril  in 
which  they  were  placed,  knelt  down,  picked  it  up,  and  hissed 
into  his  ear  that  if  he  were  not  quiet  she  would  kill  him. 

This  pacified  him  a  little,  but  no  earthly  power  could 
persuade  him  to  enter  the  tent  again. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  What  could  she  do  ?  For  two 
minutes  or  more  she  buried  her  face  in  her  wet  hands  and 
thought  wildly  and  despairingly. 


JESS.  325 

Then  a  dark  and  dreadful  determination  entered  her 
mind.  The  man  Muller  should  not  escape.  Bessie  should 
not  be  sacrificed  to  him.  Rather  than  that,  she  would  do 
the  deed  herself. 

Without  a  word  she  rose,  animated  by  the  tragic  agony 
of  her  purpose  and  the  force  of  her  despair,  and  glided 
towards  the  tent;  the  great  knife  in  her  hand.  Now,  ah  ! 
all  too  soon,  she  was  inside  of  it  and  stood  for  a  second  to 
allow  her  eyes  to  grow  accustomed  to  the  light.  Present- 
ly she  began  to  see,  first,  the  outline  of  the  bed,  then  the 
outline  of  the  manly  form  stretched  upon  it,  then  both  bed 
and  man  distinctly.  Jantje  had  said  that  he  was  sleeping 
like  a  child.  He  might  have  been,  now  he  was  not.  On 
the  contrary,  his  face  was  convulsed  like  that  of  one  in  an 
extremity  of  fear,  and  great  beads  of  sweat  stood  upon 
his  brow.  It  was  as  though  he  knew  his  danger,  and  was 
yet  utterly  powerless  to  avoid  it.  He  lay  upon  his  back. 
One  heavy  arm,  his  left,  hung  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  the 
knuckles  of  the  hand  resting  on  the  ground ;  the  other 
was  thrown  back  and  his  head  was  pillowed  upon  it.  The 
clothing  had  fallen  back  from  his  throat  and  massive  chest, 
which  were  quite  bare. 

Jess  stood  and  gazed.  "  For  Bessie's  sake,  for  Bessie's 
sake  !"  she  murmured,  and  then,  impelled  by  a  force  that 
seemed  to.  move  of  itself,  she  crept  slowly,  slowly,  to  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  bed. 

At  this  moment  the  man  woke,  and  his  opening  eyes  fell 
full  upon  her  face.  Whatever  his  dream  had  been,  what 
he  now  saw  was  far  more  terrible,  for  bending  over  him 
was  the  ghost  of  tin  <!•,,,,,,!,,  I,,  had  murdered  in  th  \~>ml ! 
There  she  was,  risen  from  her  river  grave,  torn,  dishevelled, 
water  yet  dripping  from  her  hands  and  hair.  Those  sunk 
and  marble  cheeks,  those  dreadful  flaming  eyes  could  be- 
long to  no  human  being,  but  only  to  a  spirit.  It  was  the 
spirit  of  Jess  Croft,  the  woman  he  had  munli-ivl.  conn- 
back  to  tell  him  that  there  was  a  living  vengeance  and  a 


326  JESS. 

hell !  Their  eyes  met,  and  no  creature  will  ever  know 
the  agony  of  terror  that  he  tasted  of  before  the  end  came. 
She  saw  his  face  sink  in  and  turn  ashen  gray  while  the 
cold  sweat  ran  from  every  pore.  He  was  awake,  but  fear 
paralyzed  him,  he  could  not  speak  or  move. 

He  was  awake,  and  she  could  hesitate  no  more. 

He  must  have  seen  the  flash  of  the  falling  steel,  and — 

She  was  outside  the  tent  again,  the  red  knife  in  her 
hand.  She  flung  the  accursed  thing  from  her.  That 
shriek  must  have  awakened  every  soul  within  a  mile. 
Already  she  could  faintly  hear  the  stir  of  men  down  by 
the  wagon  and  the  patter  of  Jantje  running  for  his  life. 

Then  she  too  turned  and  fled  straight  up  the  hill.  She 
knew  not  whither,  she  cared  not  where  !  None  saw  her 
or  followed  her,  the  hunt  had  broken  away  to  the  left 
after  Jantje.  Her  heart  was  lead  and  her  brain  a  rocking 
sea  of  fire,  while  before  her,  around  her,  and  behind  her 
yelled  all  the  conscience-created  furies  that  run  murder  to 
his  lair. 

On  she  flew,  one  sight  only  before  her  eyes,  one  sound 
only  in  her  ears.  On  over  the  hill,  far  into  the  rain  and 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TANTA    COETZEE    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

AFTER  Jess  had  been  set  free  by  the  Boers  outside  Hans 
Coetzee's  place,  John  was  sharply  ordered  to  dismount 
and  offsaddle  his  horse.  This  he  did  with  the  best  grace 
that  he  could  muster,  and  the  horse  was  knee-haltered  and 
let  loose  to  feed.  It  was  then  indicated  to  him  that  he 
was  to  enter  the  house,  which  he  also  did,  closely  attended 
by  two  of  the  Boers.  The  room  into  which  he  was  con- 
ducted was  the  same  that  he  had  first  become  acquainted 
with  on  the  occasion  of  the  buck  hunt  that  had  so  nearly 
ended  in  his  extinction.  There  was  the  Buckenhout  table, 
and  there  were  the  chairs  and  couches  made  of  stinkwood. 
Also,  in  the  biggest  chair  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  a 
moderate  sized  slop-basin  full  of  coffee  by  her  side,  sat 
Tanta  Coetzee,  still  actively  employed  in  doing  absolute- 
ly nothing.  There,  too,  were  the  showily-dressed  young 
women ;  there  was  the  sardonic  lover  of  one  of  them,  and 
all  the  posse  of  young  men  with  rifles.  The  whole  place 
and  its  characteristics  were  quite  unchanged,  and  on  en- 
tering it  John  felt  inclined  to  rub  his  eyes  and  wonder 
whether  the  events  of  the  last  few  months  had  been  noth- 
ing but  a  dream.  The  only  thing  that  was  different  was 
the  welcome  that  he  received.  Evidently  he  was  not  ex- 
pected to  shake  hands  all  round  on  the  present  occasion. 
Fallen  indeed  would  the  Boer  have  been  considered  who, 
within  a  few  days  of  Majuba,  offered  to  shake  hands  with 
a  wretched  English  rooibaatje,  picked  up  like  a  lame  buck 
on  the  veldt.  At  the  least  he  would  have  kept  the  cere- 
mony for  private  celebration,  if  only  out  of  respect  to  the 


328  JESS. 

feelings  of  others.  On  this  occasion  John's  entry  was  re- 
ceived in  icy  silence.  The  old  woman  did  not  deign  to 
look  up,  the  young  ones  shrugged  their  shoulders  and 
turned  their  backs,  as  though  they  had  suddenly  seen 
something  that  was  not  nice.  Only  the  countenance  of 
the  sardonic  lover  softened  to  a  grin. 

John  walked  to  the  end  of  the  room  where  there  was  a 
vacant  chair  and  stood  by  it. 

"  Have  I  your  permission  to  sit  down,  ma'am  ?"  he  said 
at  last,  in  a  loud  tone,  addressing  the  old  lady. 

"  Dear  Lord  !"  said  the  old  lady  to  the  man  next  to  her, 
"what  a  voice  the  poor  creature  has;  it  is  like  a  bull's. 
What  does  he  say  ?" 

The  man  explained. 

"  The  floor  is  the  right  place  for  Englishmen  and  Kaf- 
firs," said  the  old  lady,  "  but  after  all  he  is  a  man,  and 
perhaps  sore  with  riding.  Englishmen  always  get  sore 
when  they  try  to  ride;"  and  then  with  startling  energy 
she  shouted  out, 

"Sit!  I  will  show  the  rooibaatje  he  is  not  the  only 
one  with  a  voice,"  she  added,  by  way  of  explanation. 

A  subdued  sniggle  followed  this  sally  of  wit,  during 
which  John  took  his  seat  with  all  the  native  grace  that 
he  could  command,  which  at  the  moment  was  not  much. 

"  Dear  me  !"  she  went  on,  presently,  for  she  was  a  bit 
of  a  humorist,  "  he  looks  very  dirty  and  pale,  doesn't  he  ? 
I  suppose  the  poor  thing  has  been  hiding  in  the  ant-bear 
holes  with  nothing  to  eat.  I  am  told  that  up  in  the  Dra- 
kensberg  yonder  the  ant-bear  holes  are  full  of  Englishmen. 
They  had  rather  starve  in  them  than  come  out,  for  fear 
lest  they  should  meet  a  Boer." 

This  provoked  another  sniggle,  and  then  the  young 
ladies  took  up  the  ball. 

"  Are  you  hungry,  rooibaatje  ?"  asked  one  in  English. 

John  was  boiling  with  fury,  but  he  was  also  starving, 
so  he  answered  that  he  was. 


JESS.  329 

"  Tie  his  hands  behind  him,  and  let  us  see  if  he  can 
catch  in  his  mouth,  like  a  dog,"  suggested  one  of  the  gen- 
tle youths. 

"  No,  no;  make  him  eat  pap  with  a  wooden  spoon,  like 
a  Kaffir,"  said  another.  "  I  will  feed  him  if  you  have  a 
very  long  spoon." 

Here  again  was  legitimate  cause  for  merriment,  but  in 
the  end  matters  were  compromised  by  a  lump  of  biltong 
and  a  piece  of  bread  being  thrown  to  him  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  He  caught  them  and  proceeded  to  eat, 
trying  to  conceal  his  ravenous  hunger  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  circle  of  onlookers  who  clustered  round  to  watch 
the  operation. 

"  Carolus,"  said  the  old  lady  to  the  sardonic  affianced 
of  her  daughter,  "there  are  three  thousand  men  in  the 
British  army." 

"  Yes,  my  aunt." 

"  There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army," 
she  repeated,  looking  round  angrily  as  though  somebody 
had  questioned  the  truth  of  her  statement.  "  I  tell  you 
that  my  grandfather's  brother  was  at  Cape  Town  in  the 
time  of  Governor  Smith,  and  he  counted  the  whole  Brit- 
ish army,  and  there  were  three  thousand  of  them." 

"  That  is  so,  my  aunt,"  answered  Carolus. 

"  Then  why  did  you  contradict  me,  Carolus  ?" 

"  I  did  not  intend  to,  my  aunt." 

"I  should  hope  not,  Carolus;  it  would  vex  the  dear 
Lord  to  see  a  boy  with  a  squint"  (Carolus  was  slight  ly 
afflicted  in  that  way)  "  contradict  his  future  mother-in- 
law.  Tell  me  how  many  Englishmen  were  killed  at  Laing's 
Nek?" 

"  Nine  hundred,"  replied  Carolus,  promptly. 

"  And  at  Ingogo  ?" 

"  Six  hundred  and  twenty." 

"  And  at  Majuba  ?" 

"  One  thousand." 


330  JESS. 

"  Then  that  makes  two  thousand  five  hundred  men,  yes, 
and  the  rest  were  finished  at  Bronker's  Spruit.  Nephews, 
that  rooibaatje  there,"  pointing  to  John,  "  is  one  of  the 
last  men  left  in  the  British  army." 

Most  of  her  audience  appeared  to  accept  this  argument 
as  conclusive,  but  some  mischievous  spirit  put  it  into  the 
breast  of  the  saturnine  Carolus  to  contradict  her,  notwith- 
standing the  lesson  he  had  just  had. 

"  That  is  not  so,  my  aunt;  there  are  many  d d  Eng- 
lishmen still  sneaking  about  the  Nek,  and  also  at  Pretoria 
and  Wakkerstroom." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  a  lie,"  said  the  old  lady,  raising  her 
voice,  "  they  are  only  Kaffirs  and  c.amp  followers.  There 
were  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army,  and  now 
they  are  all  killed  except  that  rooibaatje.  How  dare  you 
contradict  your  future  mother-in-law,  you  dirty,  squint- 
eyed,  yellow-faced  monkey  !  There,  take  that !"  and  be- 
fore the  unfortunate  Carolus  knew  where  he  was,  he 
received  the  slop-basin  with  its  contents  full  in  the  face. 
The  bowl  broke  upon  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  the  coffee 
flew  all  over  him,  into  his  eyes  and  hair,  down  his  throat 
and  over  his  body,  making  such  a  spectacle  of  him  as 
must  have  been  seen  to  be  appreciated. 

"  Ah  !"  went  on  the  old  lady,  much  soothed  and  grati- 
fied by  the  eminent  and  startling  success  of  her  shot, 
"  never  you  tell  me  again  I  don't  know  how  to  throw  a 
basin  of  coffee.  I  haven't  practised  at  my  man  Hans  for 
thirty  years  for  nothing,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  you,  Garo- 
lus,  I  have  taught  you  not  to  contradict;  go  and  wash 
your  face  and  we  will  have  supper." 

Carolus  ventured  no  reply,  and  was  led  away  by  his 
betrothed  half  blinded  and  utterly  subdued,  while  her\sis- 
ter  set  the  table  for  the  evening  meal.  When  it  was 
ready  the  men  sat  down  to  meat  and  the  women  waited 
on  them.  John  was  not  asked  to  sit  down,  but  one  of  the 
girls  threw  him  a  boiled  mealiecob,  for  which,  being  still 


JESS.  331 

very  hungry,  he  was  duly  grateful,  and  afterwards  he  man- 
aged to  get  a  mutton-bone  and  another  bit  of  bread. 

When  supper  was  over,  some  bottles  of  peach  brandy 
were  produced,  and  the  men  began  to  drink  freely,  and 
then  it  was  that  matters  commenced  to  get  dangerous  for 
John.  Suddenly  one  of  the  men  remembered  about  the 
young  fellow  whom  he  had  thrown  backwards  off  the 
horse,  and  who  was  lying  very  sick  in  the  next  room,  and 
suggested  that  measures  of  retaliation  should  be  taken, 
which  would  undoubtedly  have  been  done  had  not  the 
elderly  Boer  who  had  commanded  the  party  interposed. 
This  man  was  getting  drunk  like  the  others,  but  fortu- 
nately for  John  he  got  amiably  drunk. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  he  said,  "  let  him  alone.  We  will 
send  him  to  the  commandant  to-morrow.  Frank  Muller 
will  know  how  to  deal  with  him." 

John  thought  to  himself  that  he  certainly  would. 

"  Now,  for  myself,"  the  man  went  on  with  a  hiccough, 
"  I  bear  no  malice.  We  have  thrashed  the  British  and 
they  have  given  up  the  country,  so  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones, I  say.  Almighty,  yes !  I  am  not  proud,  not  I.  If  an 
Englishman  takes  off  his  hat  to  me  I  shall  acknowledge  it." 

This  staved  the  fellows  off  for  a  while,  but  presently 
John's  protector  went  away,  and  then  the  others  began 
to  get  playful.  They  got  their  rifles  and  amused  them- 
selves with  levelling  them  at  him,  and  making  sham  bets 
as  to  where  they  would  hit  him.  John,  seeing  the  emer- 
gency, backed  his  chair  well  into  the  corner  of  the  wall 
and  drew  his  revolver,  which  fortunately  for  himself  he 
still  had. 

"  If  any  man  interferes  with  me,  by  God,  I'll  shoot 
hinVl"  he  said,  in  good  English,  which  they  did  not  fail 
to  understand.  Undoubtedly  as  the  evening  went  on  it 
was  only  the  possession  of  this  revolver  and  his  evident 
determination  to  use  it  that  saved  his  life. 

At  last  things  got  very  bad  indeed,  so  bad  that  he  found 


332  JESS. 

it  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  his  eyes  continually  fixed, 
now  on  one  and  now  on  another,  to  prevent  their  putting 
a  bullet  through  him  unawares.  He  had  twice  appealed 
to  the  old  woman,  but  she  sat  in  her  big  chair  with  a  sweet 
smile  upon  her  fat  face  and  refused  to  interfere.  It  is  not 
every  day  that  one  gets  the  chance  of  seeing  a  real  live 
English  rooibaatje  baited  like  an  ant-bear  on  the  flat. 

Presently,  just  as  John  in  desperation  was  making  up 
his  mind  to  begin  shooting  right  and  left,  and  take  his 
chance  of  cutting  his  way  out,  the  saturnine  Carolus,  whose 
temper  had  never  recovered  the  bowl  of  coffee,  and  who 
was  besides  very  drunk,  rushed  forward  with  an  oath  and 
dealt  a  tremendous  blow  at  him  with  the  butt  end  of  his 
rifle.  John  dodged  the  blow,  which  fell  upon  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  smashed  it  to  bits,  and  in  another  second 
Carolus's  gentle  soul  would  have  departed  to  a  better  sphere, 
had  not  the  old  woman,  seeing  that  matters  were  getting 
beyond  a  joke,  come  waddling  down  the  room  with  mar- 
vellous activity  and  thrown  herself  between  them. 

"  There,  there,"  she  said,  cuffing  right  and  left  with 
her  fat  fists,  "be  off  with  you,  every  one.  I  can't  have 
this  noise  going  on  here.  Come,  off  you  all  go,  and  get 
the  horses  into  the  stable;  they  will  be  right  away  by 
morning  if  you  trust  them  to  the  Kaffirs." 

Carolus  collapsed,  and  the  other  men,  too,  hesitated  and 
drew  back,  whereupon,  following  up  her  advantage,  the 
woman,  to  John's  astonishment  and  relief,  literally  bun- 
dled the  whole  tribe  of  them  out  of  the  front  door. 

"Now  then,  rooibaatje,"  said  the  old  lady,  briskly, 
when  they  had  gone,  "  I  like  you  because  you  are  a  brave 
man,  and  were  not  afraid  when  they  mobbed  you.  Also, 
I  don't  want  to  have  a  mess  made  upon  my  floor  here,  or 
any  noise  or  shooting.  If  those  men  come  back  and  find 
you  here  they  will  first  get  rather  drunker  and  then  kill 
you,  so  you  had  better  be  off  while  you  get  the  chance," 
and  she  pointed  to  the  door. 


JESS.  333 

"  I  am  really  much  obliged  to  you,  my  aunt,"  said  John, 
utterly  astonished  to  find  that  she  possessed  a  heart  at  all, 
and  had  more  or  less  been  playing  a  part  all  the  evening. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  she  said,  dryly,  "  it  would  be  a  great 
pity  to  kill  the  last  English  rooibaatje  in  the  whole  Brit- 
ish army;  they  ought  to  keep  you  as  a  curiosity.  Here, 
take  a  tot  of  brandy  before  you  go,  it  is  a  wet  night,  and 
sometimes  when  you  are  clear  of  the  Transvaal  and  remem- 
ber this  business,  remember,  too,  that  you  owe  your  life 
to  Tanta  Coetzee.  But  I  would  not  have  saved  you,  not 
I,  if  you  had  not  been  so  plucky.  I  like  a  man  to  be  a 
man,  and  not  like  that  miserable  monkey  Carolus.  There, 
be  off  !" 

John  poured  out  and  gulped  down  half  a  tumblerful  of 
the  brandy,  and  in  another  moment  was  outside  the  house 
and  had  slipped  off  into  the  night.  It  was  very  dark  and 
wet,  for  the  rain-clouds  had  covered  up  the  moon,  and  he 
soon  realized  that  any  attempt  to  look  for  his  horse  would 
only  end  in  failure  and  in  his  recapture  also.  The  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  get  away  on  foot  in  the  direction  of 
Mooifontein  as  quickly  as  he  could;  so  off  he  went  down 
the  track  across  the  veldt  as  hard  as  his  stiff  legs  would 
take  him.  He  had  a  ten  miles'  trudge  before  him,  and 
with  that  cheerful  acquiescence  in  circumstances  over 
which  he  had  no  control  which  was  one  of  his  character- 
istics, he  set  to  work  to  make  the  best  of  it.  For  the  first 
hour  or  so  all  went  well,  and  then  to  his  intense  disgust 
he  discovered  that  he  was  off  the  track,  a  fact  at  which 
anybody  who  has  ever  had  the  pleasure  on  a  dark  night 
of  wandering  along  a  so-called  road  on  the  African  veldt 
will  scarcely  be  surprised.  After  wasting  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  more  in  a  vain  attempt  to  find  the  path,  he  struck 
out  boldly  for  a  dark-looking  mass  that  loomed  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  which  he  took  to  be  Mooifontein  Hill.  And 
so  it  was,  only  instead  of  keeping  to  the  left,  when  he 
would  have  landed  up  at  the  house,  or  rather  where  the 


334  JESS. 

house  had  stood,  he  unwittingly  bore  to  the  right,  and  thus 
went  half  round  the  hill  before  he  found  out  his  mistake. 
Nor  would  he  have  found  it  out  then  had  he  not  chanced 
in  the  mist  and  darkness  to  turn  into  the  mouth  of  the 
great  gorge  known  as  Leuw  Kloof,  where  he  had  once, 
months  before,  had  an  interesting  talk  with  Jess  just  be- 
fore she  went  to  Pretoria.  It  was  while  he  was  blunder- 
ing and  stumbling  up  this  gorge  that  at  length  the  rain 
ceased  and  the  moon  got  out,  it  being  then  nearly  mid- 
night. Its  very  first  rays  lit  upon  one  of  the  extraordinary 
pillars  of  balanced  bowlders,  and  by  it  he  recognized  the 
locality.  As  may  be  imagined,  strong  man  as  he  was, 
John  was  by  this  time  quite  exhausted.  For  nearly  a 
week  he  had  been  travelling  incessantly,  and  for  the  last 
two  nights  he  had  not  only  not  slept,  but  had  endured  a 
great  deal  of  peril  and  mental  excitement.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  brandy  Tanta  Coetzee  had  given  him  he  could  not 
have  got  over  the  fifteen  miles  or  so  of  ground  he  had 
covered,  and  now  he  was  quite  broken  down,  and  felt  that 
the  only  thing  that  he  could  do,  wet  through  as  he  was, 
would  be  to  lie  down  somewhere  and  sleep  or  die  as  the 
case  might  be.  Then  it  was  that  the  little  cave  near  the 
top  of  the  Kloof,  the  same  from  which  Jess  had  watched 
the  thunderstorm,  came  into  his  recollection.  He  had 
been  there  once  with  Bessie  after  their  engagement,  and 
she  had  told  him  that  it  was  one  of  Jess's  favorite  spots. 

If  he  could  once  reach  the  cave  he  would  at  any  rate 
get  shelter  and  a  dry  place  to  lie  on.  It  could  not  be 
more  than  three  hundred  yards  away.  So  he  struggled 
on  bravely  through  the  wet  grass  and  over  the  scattered 
bowlders,  until  at  last  he  came  to  the  base  of  the  huge  column 
that  had  been  shattered  by  the  lightning  before  Jess's  eyes. 

Thirty  paces  more  and  he  was  in  the  cave. 

With  a  sigh  of  utter  exhaustion  he  flung  himself  down 
upon  the  rocky  floor  and  was  almost  instantly  buried  in  a 
profound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    CONCLUSION    OF   THE    MATTER. 

WHEN  the  rain  ceased  and  the  moon  began  to  shine, 
Jess  was  still  fleeing  like  a  wild  thing  across  the  plain  on 
the  top  of  the  mountain.  She  felt  no  sense  of  exhaustion 
now  or  even  of  weariness;  her  only  idea  was  to  get  away, 
right  away  somewhere,  where  she  could  lose  herself  and 
nobody  would  ever  see  her  again.  Presently  she  came  to 
the  top  of  Leuw  Kloof,  and  in  a  bewildered  way  recognized 
the  spot  and  commenced  to  descend  it.  Here  was  a  place 
where  she  might  lie  until  she  died,  for  no  one  ever  came 
there,  except  now  and  again  some  wandering  Kaffir  herd. 
On  she  sprang,  from  rock  to  rock,  a  wild,  weird  figure, 
well  in  keeping  with  the  solemn  and  titanic  sadness  of 
the  place. 

Twice  she  fell,  once  right  into  the  stream,  but  she  took 
no  heed,  she  did  not  even  seem  to  feel  it.  At  last  she  was 
at  the  bottom,  now  creeping  like  a  black  dot  across  the 
wide  spaces  of  moonlight  and  now  swallowed  up  in  the 
shadow.  There  before  her  was  the  mouth  of  her  little 
cave  ;  her  strength  was  leaving  her  at  last,  and  she  was 
fain  to  creep  into  it,  broken-hearted,  crazed,  and — dying. 

"  Oh,  God,  forgive  me  !  God  forgive  me  !"  she  moaned, 
as  she  sank  upon  the  rocky  floor.  "  Bessie,  I  sinned  against 
you,  but  I  have  washed  away  my  sin.  I  did  it  for  y«u, 
Bessie  love,  not  for  myself.  I  had  rather  have  died  than 
kill  him  for  myself.  You  will  marry  John  now,  and  you 
will  never,  never  know  what  I  did  for  you.  I  am  going  to 
die.  I  know  that.  I  am  dying.  Oh,  if  only  I  could  see 
his  face  once  more  before  I  die — before  I  die  !" 


336  JESS. 

Slowly  the  westering  moonlight  crept  down  the  black- 
ness of  the  rock.  Now  at  last  it  peeped  into  the  little 
cave  and  played  upon  John's  sleeping  face  lying  within 
two  feet  of  her.  Her  prayer  had  been  granted  ;  there  was 
her  lover  by  her  side. 

With  a  start  and  a  great  sigh  of  doubt  she  saw  him. 
Was  he  dead  ?  She  dragged  herself  to  him  on  her  hands 
and  knees  and  listened  for  his  breathing,  if  perchance  he 
still  breathed  and  was  not  a  vision.  Then  it  came,  strong 
and  slow,  the  breath  of  a  man  in  deep  sleep. 

Should  she  try  to  wake  him  ?  What  for  ?  To  tell  him 
she  was  a  murderess  and  then  to  let  him  see  her  die,  for 
instinct  told  her  that  nature  was  exhausted  ;  and  she  knew 
that  she  was  certainly  going — going  fast.  No,  a  hundred 
times,  no  ! 

Only  she  put  her  hand  into  her  breast  and  drew  out  the 
pass  on  the  back  of  which  she  had  written  to  him,  and 
thrust  it  between  his  listless  fingers.  It  should  speak  for 
her.  Then  she  leaned  over  him,  and  watched  his  sleeping 
face,  a  very  incarnation  of  infinite,  despairing  tenderness 
and  love  that  is  deeper  than  the  grave.  And  as  she 
watched,  gradually  her  feet  and  legs  grew  cold  and  numb, 
till  at  length  she  could  feel  nothing  below  her  bosom.  She 
was  dead  nearly  to  the  heart. 

The  rays  of  the  moon  faded  slowly  from  the  level  of 
the  little  cave,  and  John's  face  grew  dark  to  her  darken- 
ing sight.  She  bent  down  and  kissed  him  once,  twice, 
thrice. 

Then  at  last  the  end  came.  There  was  a  great  flashing 
of  light  before  her  eyes,  and  the  roaring  as  of  a  thousand 
seas  within  her  ears,  and  her  head  sank  gently  on  her 
lover's  breast  as  on  a  pillow  ;  and  there  she  died,  and 
passed  upward  towards  the  wider  life  and  larger  liberty, 
or  perchance  downward  into  the  depths  of  an  eternal  sleep. 

Poor  dark-eyed,  deep-hearted  Jess  !  This  was  the  frui- 
tion of  her  love  and  this  her  bridal -bed. 


JESS.  337 

It  was  done.  She  had  gone,  taking  with  her  the  secret 
of  her  self-sacrifice  and  crime,  and  the  night  winds  moan- 
ing amid  the  rocks  sang  their  requiem  over  her.  Here  she 
first  had  learned  her  love,  and  here  she  closed  its  book. 

She  might  have  been  a  great  and  good  woman.  She 
might  even  have  been  a  happy  woman.  But  fate  had  or- 
dained it  otherwise.  Women  such  as  she  are  rarely  happy 
in  the  world.  It  is  not  well  to  stake  all  one's  fortune  on 
a  throw,  and  lack  the  craft  to  load  the  dice.  Well,  her 
troubles  are  done  with.  "Think  gently  of  her"  and  let 
her  pass  in  peace. 

The  hours  grew  on  towards  the  morning,  but  John,  the 
dead  face  of  the  wroman  he  had  loved  still  pillowed  on  his 
breast,  neither  dreamed  nor  woke.  There  was  a  strange 
and  dreadful  irony  in  the  situation,  and  one  which  some- 
times finds  a  counterpart  in  our  waking  life,  but  still  the 
man  slept,  and  the  dead  woman  lay  till  the  night  turned 
into  the  morning  and  the  world  woke  up  as  usual.  The 
sunbeams  slid  into  the  cave,  and  played  indifferently  upon 
the  ashen  face  and  tangled  curls,  and  on  the  broad  chest 
of  the  living  man  whereon  they  rested.  An  old  baboon 
peeped  round  the  rocky  edge,  and  manifested  no  sur- 
prise, only  indignation,  at  the  intrusion  of  humanity, 
dead  or  alive,  into  his  dominions.  Yes,  the  world  woke 
up  as  usual,  and  recked  not  and  troubled  not  because 
Jess  was  dead. 

It  was  so  accustomed  to  such  sights. 

And  at  last  John  woke  up  too.  He  stretched  his  arms 
and  yawned,  and  then  for  the  first  time  became  aware  of 
the  weight  upon  his  breast.  He  glanced  down  and  saw 
dimly  at  first — then  more  clearly. 

There  are  some  things  into  which  it  is  wisest  not  to 
pry,  and  one  of  them  is  the  first  agony  of  a  strong  man's 
grief. 

Happy  was  it  for  him  that  his  brain  did  not  give  way  iii 
22  ' 


338  JESS. 

that  first  lonely  hour  of  bottomless  despair.  But  he  lived 
through  it,  as  we  do  live  through  such  things,  and  was 
sane  and  sound  after  it,  though  it  left  its  mark  upon  his 
life. 

Two  hours  later  a  gaunt,  haggard  figure  came  stum- 
bling down  the  hillside  towards  the  site  of  Mooifontein, 
bearing  something  in  his  arms.  The  whole  place  was  in 
commotion.  Here  and  there  were  knots  of  Boers  talking 
excitedly,  who,  when  they  saw  the  man  coming,  hurried 
up  to  see  who  it  was  and  what  he  carried.  But  when 
they  knew,  they  fell  back  awed  and  without  a  word,  and 
he  too  passed  through  them  without  a  word.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  hesitated,  realizing  that  the  house  was  burned 
down,  and  then  turned  into  the  wagon-shed,  and  laid  his 
burden  down  upon  the  saw-bench  on  which  Frank  Muller 
had  sat  as  judge  upon  the  previous  day. 

Then  at  last  he  spoke  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  Where  is  the 
old  man  ?"  One  of  them  pointed  to  the  door  of  the  little 
room. 

"  Open  it !"  he  said,  so  fiercely  that  they  again  fell  back 
and  obeyed  him  without  a  word. 

"  John  !  John  !"  cried  Silas  Croft.  "  Thank  God  you 
have  come  back  to  us  from  the  dead  !"  and,  trembling 
with  joy  and  surprise,  he  would  have  fallen  upon  his 
neck. 

"Hush  !"  he  answered  ;  "I  have  brought  the  dead  with 
me." 

And  he  led  him  to  where  she  lay. 

During  the  day  the  Boers  all  went  and  left  them  alone. 
Now  that  Frank  Muller  was  dead  there  was  no  thought 
among  them  of  carrying  out  the  sentence  upon  their  old 
neighbor.  Besides,  there  was  no  warrant  for  the  execu- 
tion, even  had  they  'desired  so  to  do,  for  their  comman- 
dant had  died  leaving  it  unsigned.  So  they  held  a  sort  of 
informal  inquest  upon  their  leader's  body,  and  then  buried 


JESS.  339 

him  in  the  little  graveyard  that  was  planted  with  the  four 
red  gums,  one  at  each  corner,  and  walled  in  on  the  hillside 
at  the  back  of  where  the  house  had  stood.  Rather  than 
be  at  the  pains  of  hollowing  out  another,  they  buried  him 
in  the  very  grave  that  he  had  caused  to  be  dug  to  receive 
the  body  of  Silas  Croft. 

-Who  had  murdered  Frank  Muller  was  and  remains  a 
mystery  among  them  to  this  day.  The  knife  was  identi- 
fied by  the  natives  about  the  farm  as  belonging  to  the 
Hottentot  Jantje,  and  a  Hottentot  was  seen  running  from 
the  place  of  the  deed  and  hunted  for  some  way,  but  could 
not  be  caught  or  heard  of  again.  Therefore  many  of  them 
are  of  the  opinion  that  he  is  the  guilty  man.  Others, 
again,  believe  that  the  crime  rests  upon  the  shoulders  of 
the  villainous  one-eyed  Kaffir,  Hendrik,  his  own  servant, 
who  had  also  mysteriously  vanished.  But  as  they  have 
never  found  either  of  them,  and  are  not  likely  to,  the  point 
remains  a  moot  one.  Nor,  indeed,  did  they  take  any  great 
pains  to  hunt  for  them.  Frank  Muller  was  not  a  popular 
character,  and  the  fact  of  a  man  coming  to  a  mysterious 
end  does  not  produce  any  great  sensation  among  a  rough 
people  and  in  rough  times. 

On  the  following  day  old  Silas  Croft,  Bessie,  and  John 
Niel  also  buried  their  dead  in  the  little  graveyard  on  the 
hillside,  and  there  she  lies,  some  ten  feet  of  earth  only  be- 
tween her  and  the  man  on  whom  she  was  the  instrument 
of  vengeance.  But  they  never  knew  that,  or  even  gue>-r-I 
it.  They  never  even  knew  that  she  had  been  near  Mooi- 
fontein  on  that  awful  night.  Nobody  knew  it  except 
Jantje,  and  Jantje,  haunted  by  the  footfall  of  the.  pursuing 
Boers,  was  gone  from  the  ken  of  the  white  man  far  into 
the  wilds  of  Central  Africa. 

"  John,"  said  the  old  man,  when  they  had  filled  in  the 
grave,  "  this  is  no  country  for  Englishmen.  Let  us  go 
home  to  England."  John  bowed  his  head  in  assent. 
Fortunately  the  means  were  not  wanting,  although  they 


340  JESS. 

were  practically  ruined,  for  the  thousand  pounds  he  had 
paid  to  Silas  for  a  third  interest  in  the  farm  still  lay,  to- 
gether with  another  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  in  the 
Standard  Bank  at  Newcastle,  in  Natal. 

And  so,  in  due  course,  they  went. 

And  now  what  more  is  there  to  tell  ?  Jess,  to  those  who 
read  what  has  been  written  as  it  is  meant  to  be  read,  was 
the  soul  of  it  all,  and  Jess  is  dead.  It  is  useless  to  set  a 
lifeless  thing  upon  its  feet,  rather  let  us  strive  to  follow 
the  soarings  of  the  spirit.  Jess  is  dead  and  her  story  at 
an  end. 

One  word  more.  After  some  difficulty  JohnNiel,  with- 
in three  months  of  his  arrival  in  England,  got  employment 
as  a  land  agent  to  a  large  estate  in  Rutlandshire,  which 
position  he  fills  to  this  day,  with  credit  to  himself  and 
such  advantage  to  the  property  as  can  be  expected  nowa- 
days. Also,  he  in  due  course  became  the  beloved  husband 
of  sweet  Bessie  Croft,  and  on  the  whole  may  be  considered 
a  happy  man.  At  times,  however,  a  sorrow  of  which  his 
wife  knows  nothing  gets  the  better  of  him,  and  for  a  while 
he  is  not  himself. 

He  is  not  a  man  much  given  to  sentiment  or  specula- 
tion, but  sometimes,  when  his  day's  work  is  done  and  he 
strays  down  to  his  garden  gate  and  looks  out  at  the  dim 
and  peaceful  English  landscape  below,  and  then  at  the 
wide,  star-strewn  heavens  above,  he  wonders  if  the  hour 
will  ever  come  when  he  will  once  more  see  those  dark  and 
passionate  eyes,  and  hear  that  sweet,  remembered  voice. 

For  he  feels  as  near  to  his  lost  love  now  that  she  is  dead 
as  he  did  when  she  was.  yet  alive,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  seems  to  clearly  know  that  if  there  prove  to  be  an  in- 
dividual future  for  us  struggling  mortals,  he  will  find  Jess 
waiting  to  greet  him  at  its  gates. 

Till:    EXD. 


SHE:  A  HISTORY  OF  ADVENTURE. 

By  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD,  Author  of  "King  Solomon's  Mines," 
"Jess,"  etc.     Profusely  Illustrated.     4to,  Paper,  25  cents. 


There  are  color,  splendor,  and  passion  everywhere ;  action  in  abundance ; 
constant  variety,  and  absorbing  interest.  Mr.  Haggard  does  not  err  on  the 
side  of  niggardliness ;  he  is  only  too  affluent  in  description  and  ornament. 
.  .  .  There  is  a  largeness,  a  freshness,  and  a  strength  about  him  which  are 
full  of  promise  and  encouragement,  the  more  since  he  has  placed  himself 
so  unmistakably  on  the  romantic  side  of  fiction ;  that  is,  on  the  side  of 
truth  and  permanent  value.  ...  He  is  already  one  of  the  foremost  modern 
romance  writers. — N.  Y.  World. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Mr.  Haggard  has  supplied  to  us  in  this  book  the 
complement  of  "  Dr.  Jeckyl."  He  has  shown  us  what  woman's  love  for 
man  really  means. —  The  Journalist. 

One  cannot  too  much  applaud  Mr.  Haggard  for  his  power  in  working  up 
to  a  weird  situation  and  holding  the  reader  at  the  ghost-story  pitch  with- 
out ever  absolutely  entering  the  realm  of  the  supernatural.  ...  It  is  a 
story  to  be  read  at  one  sitting,  not  in  weekly  parts.  But  its  sensational- 
ism is  fresh  and  stirring;  its  philosophy  is  conveyed  in  pages  that  glow 
with  fine  images  and  charm  the  reader  like  the  melodious  verse  of  Swin- 
burne.— N.  Y.  Times. 

One  of  the  most  peculiar,  vivid,  and  absorbing  stories  we  have  read  for 
a  long  time. — Boston  Times. 

It  is  an  exciting  story,  well  told  and  cleverly  illustrated.  It  is  one  of 
the  books  a  story  reader  cannot  afford  to  miss. — Detroit  Newt. 

It  is  a  most  marvellous  tale,  displaying  a  wonderfully  powerful  imag- 
ination, picturesque  and  striking  descriptions,  and  unflagging  in: 
For  supernatural  effects,  nothing  like  it  has  appeared  since  "  Vathek."  It 
has  been  read  by  thousands  in  its  serial  form ;  it  will  be  read  and  reread 
by  more  in  its  book  form.  It  is  the  most  thrilling  and  entrancing  book 
of  the  day. — American  Bookseller,  N.  Y. 

This  latest  story  shows  so  peculiar,  novel,  and  hitherto  undeveloped  a 
field  for  mingled  research  and  mystery  that  one  who  has  not  the  gift  of 
wonder-building,  and  yet  is  fascinated  with  it  all,  simply  reads  and  marvels 
and  acknowledges  the  master-hand. — Brooklyn  Times. 

Whoever  has  read  "King  Solomon's  Mines"  will  have  an  eye  out  for 
further  books  by  H.  Rider  Haggard.  His  latest  contribution  to  literature 
is  "  She,"  a  wonderful  book,  with  still  more  remarkable  pictures. — 
Advertiser,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  <fe  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

r  The  above  work  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  tn  any  part  of  the  United 
States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


MASSACRES  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

A  History  of  the  Indian  Wars  of  the  Far  West.  By 
J.  P.  DUNN,  Jr.,  M.S.,  LL.B.  With  a  Map  and  Pro- 
fuse Illustrations,  pp.  x.,  784.  8vo,  Illuminated  Cloth, 
$3.75. 

It  is  written  with  a  graphic  pen,  and  is  beautifully  illustrated  through- 
out. It  is  quite  as  exciting  but  far  more  healthful  reading  for  the  young 
people  than  the  trashy  stories  of  Indian  warfare  that  have  turned  the 
heads  of  so  many  boys  and  made  them  anxious  to  join  a  scalping  party 
and  take  to  the  life  of  the  prairies. — N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

A  bold  and  thorough  exposure  of  the  cruel  mismanagement  of  Indian 
affairs  for  many  years,  which  will  deeply  interest  all. — Journal  of  Educa- 
tion, Boston. 

This  is  a  volume  on  a  broad  plan — so  broad  as  to  stand  by  itself  in 
recent  literature.  Nowhere  else  can  such  a  complete  collection  of  Indian 
wars  be  found.  .  .  .  We  cannot  suppress  our  high  appreciation  of  the  ex- 
cellence of  the  volume.  It  must  take  high  ground,  and  be  widely  called 
for;  for  it  is 'the  Indian  question  in  a  nutshell. — Hartford  Post. 

A  more  full  and  connected  account  than  has  yet  appeared  of  the  differ- 
ent Indian  tribes  of  the  West,  and  the  treaties  and  troubles  of  the  Govern- 
ment with  each.  .  .  .  The  book  is  historically  valuable. — Cincinnati  Times. 

A  very  complete  history  of  the  Indian  wars  of  the  Far  West  is  contained 
in  this  large  and  beautiful  volume.  The  Indian  problem  is  discussed  with 
great  ability,  and  a  more  humane  and  enlightened  policy  with  regard  to 
the  red  men  than  has  yet  prevailed,  is  urged  with  rare  force.  The  nar- 
rative part  of  this  work  is  rilled  with  thrilling  adventures  of  pioneers,  the 
massacres  of  emigrants,  the  wars  for  the  subjugation  of  hostile  tribes, 
and  the  men  who  took  a  prominent  part  in  them,  both  Indians  and  whites. 
.  .  .  This  work  ought  to  be  in  every  well-appointed  public  and  private  li- 
brary.— Albany  I'ress. 

The  most  authentic  and  complete  narrative  we  possess  of  the  Indian 
wars.  As  a  history  for  the  general  reader,  and  as  a  reference  volume  for 
the  student  of  the  Indian  questions  now  before  the  country,  and  to  make 
converts  to  liberal  Indian  measures,  the  work  carries  great  weight,  and 
proves  the  exceptional  competency  of  its  author  for  its  composition. — 
Sunday  Globe,  Boston. 

A  book  which  embodies  a  great  deal  of  research,  recounts  much  straight- 
forward history,  and  furnishes  enough  of  romance,  tragedy,  and  pathos  to 
stir  by  turns  the  reader's  interest,  pity,  and  indignation. — Literary  World, 
Boston. 

A  book  of  great  value  to  the  student  of  American  history,  and  of  per- 
manent interest  to  the  general  reader. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HARPKR  &  BROTHKBB  will  send  the  above  work  by  mail,  pontage  prepaid,  to 
any  part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BOOTS  AND  SADDLES; 

Or,  Life  in  Dakota  with  General  Ouster.  By  Mrs.  ELIZ- 
ABETH B.  CUSTKR.  With  Portrait  of  General  Ouster, 
pp.  312.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

A  book  of  adventure  is  interesting  reading,  especially  when  it  is  all  true, 
as  is  the  case  with  "  Boots  and  Saddles."  *  *  *  She  does  not  obtrude  the 
fact  that  sunshine  aud  solace  went  with  her  to  tent  and  fort,  but  it  in- 
heres in  her  narrative  none  the  less,  and  as  a  consequence  "  these  simple 
annals  of  our  daily  life,"  as.  she  calls  them,  are  never  dull  nor  uninterest- 
ing.— Evangelist,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  Ouster's  book  is  in  reality  a  bright  and  sunny  sketch  of  the  life 
of  her  late  husband,  who  fell  at  the  battle  of  "  Little  Big  Horn."  *  *  * 
After  the  war,  when  General  Ouster  was  sent  to  the  Indian  frontier,  his 
wife  was  of  the  party,  and  she  is  able  to  give  the  minute  story  of  her 
husband's  varied  career,  since  she  was  almost  always  near  the  scene  of 
his  adventures. — Brooklyn  Union. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  no  better  or  more  satisfactory  life 
of  General  Ouster  could  have  been  written.  Indeed,  we  may  as  well 
speak  the  thought  that  is  in  us,  and  say  plainly  that  we  know  of  no  bio- 
graphical work  anywhere  which  we  count  better  than  this.  *  *  *  Surely  the 
record  of  such  experiences  as  these  will  be  read  with  that  keen  interest 
which  attaches  only  to  strenuous  human  doings ;  as  surely  we  are  right 
in  saying  that  such  a  story  of  truth  and  heroism  as  that  here  told  will 
take  a  deeper  hold  upon  the  popular  mind  and  heart  than  any  work  of 
fiction  can.  For  the  rest,  the  narrative  is  as  vivacious  and  as  lightly  and 
trippingly  given  as  that  of  any  novel.  It  is  enriched  in  every  chapter  with 
illustrative  anecdotes  and  incidents,  and  here  and  there  a  little  life  story 
of  pathetic  interest  is  told  as  an  episode. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

It  is  a  plain,  straightforward  story  of  the  author's  life  on  the  plains  of 
Dakota.  Every  member  of  a  Western  garrison  will  want  to  read  this 
book ;  every  person  in  the  East  who  is  interested  in  Western  life  will 
want  to  read  it,  too ;  and  every  boy  or  girl  who  has  a  healthy  appetite 
for  adventure  will  be  sure  to  get  it.  It  is  bound  to  have  an  army  of  read- 
ers that  few  authors  can  expect. — Philadelphia  Press. 

These  annals  of  daily  life  in  the  army  are  simple,  yet  interesting,  and 
underneath  all  is  discerned  the  love  of  a  true  woman  ready  for  any  sacri- 
fice. She  touches  on  themes  little  canvassed  by  the  civilian,  and  makes  a 
volume  equally  redolent  of  a  loving  devotion  to  an  honored  husband,  and 
attractive  as  a  picture  of  necessary  duty  by  the  soldier. — Commonwealth, 
Boston.  

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  N.  Y. 

ty  HABFKB  A  BBOTHF.RS  trill  tend  the  above  work  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


VIRGINIA  W.  JOHNSON'S  WORKS. 

A  SACK  OF  GOLD.     A  Novel.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

JOSEPH  THE  JEW.     The  Story  of  an  Old  House.     8vo, 
Paper,  40  cents. 

MISS    NANCY'S    PILGRIMAGE.     A   Novel.     8vo,  Paper 
40  cents. 

THE    CALDERWOOD    SECRET.     A  Novel.     8vo,  Paper, 
40  cents. 

THE  NEPTUNE  VASE.     A  Novel.     4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 
TULIP  PLACE.     A  Novel.     16mo,  Paper,  25  cents* 
TWO  OLD  CATS.     A  Novel.     4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

THE   CATSKILL  FAIRIES.     Illustrated  by  ALFRED  FRED- 
ERICKS.    Square  8vo,  Illuminated  Cloth,  Gilt  Edges,  $3  00. 

Her  novels  are  replete  with  dramatic  incident;  the  style  is  clear  and 
simple  narration,  with  true  insight  into  character, — Brooklyn  Times. 

"  The  Catskill  Fairies  "  is  a  really  charming  collection  of  little  stories, 
in  which  an  attempt,  and  a  successful  one  at  that,  is  made  to  open  up  a 
vein  of  national  fairy  lore.  There  are  twelve  stories  in  all,  told  with 
much  force  and  delicacy  of  style,  together  with  a  quaintness  and  a  sim- 
plicity that  are  equally  attractive  and  delightful.  There  is  a  playful 
humor,  too,  in  the  manner  of  telling  these  pretty  tales  that  is  not  the  least 
of  their  claims  to  attention.  .  .  .  The  book  is  copiously  and  admirably 
illustrated  by  Alfred  Fredericks,  who  here  fully  makes  good  his  title  to 
be  considered  the  best  book  illustrator  in  the  country.  His  pictures  are 
not  only  fine  in  drawing  and  rich  in  effect,  but  they  abound  in  character, 
thought,  and  originality. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

One  of  the  most  exquisitely  appropriate  volumes  for  the  young  that 
could  be  devised — exquisite  in  its  paper,  binding,  typography,  and  illus- 
trations, and  equally  so  in  the  graceful,  eventful,  half -mysterious  tales 
which  it  contains.  Miss  Johnson  tells  a  fairy  story  to  perfection — as  if 
she  believed  it  herself — and  with  a  wealth  of  tricksome  and  frolic  fancy 
that  will  delight  the  young  and  old  alike.  .  .  .  Nor  could  anything  be  de- 
vised more  apposite  to  the  holidays,  or  more  appropriate  for  a  gift,  than 
this  charming  book. —  Christian  Intelligencer,  N.  Y. 

It  is  handsome  in  make-up,  is  beautifully  illustrated,  and  is  as  interest- 
ing as  could  be  desired.  .  .  .  Miss  Johnson  evidently  understands  juvenile 
literary  needs. — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


'  Th$  above  world  tent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  Statet 
or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSON'S  NOVELS. 


EAST  ANGELS.     16mo,  Cloth,  §1  25. 
ANNE.     Illustrated.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
FOR  THE  MAJOR.    16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

CASTLE   NOWHERE.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00.    (A  New 
J&lition.) 

RODMAN  THE  KEEPER.    Southern  Sketches.    16mo, 
Cloth,  $1  00.     (A  New  Edition.) 

There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing  which 
invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities. — Jewish  Advocate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  Woolson  is  among  our  few  successful  writers  of  interesting  mag- 
azine stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  delineation  of 
her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of  local  life. — Jewish 
Messenger,  X.  Y. 

Constance  Fenimore  Woolson  may  easily  become  the  novelist  laureal  e. 
— Boston  Olobe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  a  ad 
conspicuous  dramatic  power;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable. — London  Life. 

Miss  Woolson  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox  n<  ,v- 
elist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein  which,  so  far,  is  all  l.er 
own ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sensati(>n, 
and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant  task  of  rend- 
ing it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to  her  in  very 
pleasant  places ;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the  wealth  of  woman- 
ly love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all  she  writes.  Such  books 
as  hers  do  much  to  elevate  the  moral  tone  of  the  day — a  quality  sadly 
wanting  in  novels  of  the  time. —  Whitehall  Review,  London. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HAKPXK  &  BROTKKM  will  send  the  above  icorkt  by  mail,  pontage  »r<pa»d,  to 
any  part  of  the  United  StuUs  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BEN-HUR:  A  TALE  OF  THE  CHRIST. 


By  LEW.  WALLACE.     New  Edition,     pp.  552.     16mo, 
*  Cloth,  $1  50. 

Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of  this 
romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of  Mr.  Wal- 
lace's writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The  scenes  de- 
scribed in  the  New  Testament  are  rewritten  with  the  power  and  skill  of 
an  accomplished  master  of  style. — Jf.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brilliant.  .  .  . 
We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes ;  we  witness  a  sea- 
fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman  galley,  domestic  in- 
teriors at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the  tribes  of  the  desert;  pal- 
aces, prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman  youth,  the  houses  of  pious 
families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  exciting  incident;  everything  is 
animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  interest 
will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pronounced  by  all 
one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and  there 
is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc.,  to  greatly 
strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  Ben-Hiii- "  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  .t  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is  laid, 
and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  realize  the 
nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew'  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Roman  life  at 
Antioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent. — Examiner,  N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  .  .  Few  late 
works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest. — N.  Y.  Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  of  history. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un- 
wonted interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional  novel 
and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YOKK. 

The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  pontage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States 
or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

'  ^Tnis  Wmk  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


lar2Q'67 

MAR  17 1967 

BEC'D  COC.  OBI 

Aug3068 

AUG301968 


Book  Slip-25m-9,'59(A4772s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4731 J49  1887 


II 1 1 

L  005  699  055  9 


College 
Library 

PR 

U731 

JU9 

1887 


A  001  165821  8 


